


Ravensbane

by Mythlorn



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Hurt/Comfort, Khadgar has a crush, M/M, Raventrust, Sorry Not Sorry, UST - For Now, short fic, we have moved beyond UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythlorn/pseuds/Mythlorn
Summary: Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship. May become timeline divergent.View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:  
**

      Medivh turned the page of the book he had been studying, quill scratching to a halt on the paper beneath his right hand. Another barking cough derailed his train of thought completely—and he ominously turned his head. Next to him, Khadgar hunched miserably, and he could feel those warm, brown eyes reading his reaction as raptly as a spell chart, apology burning in their depths.  
  
“You aren't getting better,” the mage murmured.  
  
“I … I'm sorry. I will work harder,” Khadgar said, misinterpreting what Medivh was saying as predictably as he always did.  
  
The boy tried too hard. It was endearing, though.  
  
The elder mage thought carefully about the situation. Khadgar always seemed genuinely surprised whenever he recalled his name, which already didn't bode well; and Medivh did have to admit that he had been exceptionally absorbed in his research for the last few weeks. No doubt, Khadgar thought him completely unaware of his presence. Yet despite his negligence, the boy had been unobtrusively taking care of him; bringing him food or drink, and fetching scrolls or books in a way that bordered on precognition. Once, Medivh had woken where he had fallen asleep at his desk, only to find his shoulders covered in a blanket. It hadn't been Moroes' doing.  
  
So yes, he was aware that Khadgar existed. He had resented his presence at first, nay, even viewed it with suspicion—he never trusted the Kirin Tor's motives—but despite himself, he might have been growing fond of the boy.  
  
“That isn't what I meant,” Medivh sighed.  
  
“I'm— ”  
  
“—If you say 'sorry' one more time, I will port you out of this tower without the courtesy of a slow fall.”  
  
Medivh's guilt was growing exponentially.  
  
Any time he saw Khadgar, he was either passed out with mana burn from practicing spells much too difficult for him, or huddled freezing in the stacks somewhere. Medivh hadn't assigned him quarters since he had arrived, assuming his apprentice would make his own way if he wasn't driven off like all the others—which was what he might have been subconsciously hoping for. Yet Khadgar was still here; and despite looking thin, cold, hungry, and yes … dare he say it, dirty, the boy never failed to spare him a cheerful smile.  
  
Then, unsurprisingly, Khadgar had taken ill, and Medivh had experienced something he hadn't in a very long time—concern for something other than his responsibilities as Guardian. Of course he hadn't admitted this, and it was manifesting outwardly as annoyance.  
  
But it was not.  
  
Turning on his heel, Medivh stalked out of the room, tome clutched in his hands and a cold but forgettable statement about 'finding somewhere quieter to work' on his lips.  
  
He had no more than shut the door behind himself when he paused. Tilting his head back against the inlaid wood, he grit his teeth against the sensation of culpability. Khadgar wasn't a dog. He was a person. And he would have at least attended to the basic needs of an animal's health.  
  
“M'lord, is there something I can help you with?” Moroes asked, having just made his way to the top floor clutching a stack of books and parchment.  
  
“No, thank you,” Medivh said abruptly, striding away before he could give in to the guilt.  
  
~*~  
  
       It was two am. Medivh had completely lost control of his life. The twin moons had just crested over the arching windows of the tower; and the mage was seriously considering his own mental stability—which had always been questionable at best. He was tinkering. He knew he was tinkering. Moroes knew he was tinkering. But he could (usually) follow directions.  
  
“How much do you think he weighs?” Medivh asked his exhausted attendant.  
  
“M'lord, he is rather thin, and of late, light of constitution. Perhaps half of that?” The put-upon older man gestured toward the ground powder filling the bowl in Medivh's hands. It was colorful to say the least.  
  
Medivh set down mortar and pestle. White willow bark. Chamomile, elder flower, hibiscus. Yseralline seeds to soothe cough. A sprinkling of mountain silver sage to ease the lungs. It didn't smell completely terrible, and it was going in mulled cider so he hoped to conceal some of the medicinal qualities. “Luckily, Moroes, he only gets a pinch of this in the whole mug. Every four hours. Yseralline seeds are a natural antibiotic. Who knew? Why haven't I read more of these damned things!” he railed distractedly; dropping the healing tome irritably on the desk and slipping back into his outer robes—he had taken them off to keep from dragging his sleeves through his work.  
  
Moroes questioned nothing because he had years of practice doing just that.  
  
“Do you think I have it right?”  
  
“I believe you do, sir.”  
  
“Are you sure? I haven't poisoned an apprentice before. I don't want to start now. It raises far too many questions and I … Moroes?”  
  
The man had dozed off on his feet, dutifully holding a steaming hot mug of mulled cider.  
  
The nerve.  
  
~*~  
  
       Medivh gathered himself and pushed open the doors to the stacks. The hour was terrible, and the room had gone dark but for the glow of the arcane-woven bricks of the tower. He could see his breath, and the wind howled outside as sleet hurled itself against the windowpanes. The mage frowned. This was no place for a human. This was no place for a bloody dragon, let alone a boy. He flicked the wrist of his free hand while murmuring something barely audible, and light burst forth in response, roiling above his fingertips. The glowing orb lit the walls eerily—but it was a start.  
  
Frowning in disapproval, Medivh shrugged his cloak higher around his shoulders as he strode crisply down the rows of bookshelves—and nearly passed him by. It was a pitiful, rib-aching cough that drew the elder mage's attention, and he drifted to a stop as he took in the scene before him.  
  
Khadgar sat on top of an elderly, rachitic chair, knees pulled to his chest as he shivered. The old cloak he wore was so thin and full of holes that Medivh could see moonlight through it in places; still the boy had wrapped it around himself as best he could. His chin was resting on top of his knees, and tear stains had dried on his face while the hard blush of fever peppered the bridge of his nose. Even his dark, messy hair was plastered to his pale forehead in patches of sweat—Light! The boy was genuinely sick, and Medivh's heart felt like it hit his stomach before rattling to a stop somewhere around his knees.  
  
There was a phrase that the guardian was thinking of in the moment, and it started with 'Medivh' and ended with 'complete and utter bastard.' Well. Swallowing past the lump of guilt in his throat, the mage resolved that he could now right the wrong. Pacing over to his exhausted apprentice, ( _When_ had he begun to think of Khadgar as his apprentice?) he delicately tipped the orb of light from his palm to the crest of a burned down candle. It clung to the top of the wick like some sort of supernatural fire, though it did not burn hot as flame did.  
  
“Up!” Medivh called, even sounding annoyed to himself.  
  
Khadgar jerked upright, his swollen eyes cracking open in shock. Squinting miserably in the low light, the boy coughed stridorous before managing to rasp out his name.  
  
“That would be me, yes,” Medivh replied more conversationally than he ever had before. “This is no place for you. I have something better. But first ...” He offered out the mug of hot drink to the boy, watching the confusion and appreciation in his eyes. There was also a wariness, one that the older mage had seen in gods-knew-how-many of the Kirin Tor's adoptees.  
  
“Am I dreaming?” Khadgar asked drowsily, taking the mug in one trembling hand as the other wiped the fevered sleep from his eyes.  
  
“No. But you are very sick, and I have been inattentive. Finish that, it will help.”  
  
Khadgar took a moment to just breathe in the steam, stifling another cough. Then, with a look of grim resolution, he brought the mug to his lips … and struggled desperately to swallow.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Medivh said quickly, as if somehow the words would sting his pride less. “Your throat must be raw.” Without thinking about it, the mage then reached out and lightly brushed his fingers under Khadgar's jaw, watching his face as he pressed here and there. The book had said that the nodes could swell … and they had. Misery. Still, Khadgar tolerated the touch, expression almost thankful even though examining him was clearly causing him pain.  
  
With his fingertips positioned as they were, Medivh felt the boy finally manage to force down a sip; then winced at the shuddering cough that followed. Briefly, a spike of panic ran up the elder mage's spine. Calm. He just had to stay calm. They would get the herbs into Khadgar, and if he did not improve, he would take him to one of the nearby druids that owed him a favor. Many. Owed him a favor.  
  
“That's … not bad, thank you,” Khadgar rasped out around the tears in his eyes from coughing.  
  
Thus, Medivh stood there for the better part of twenty minutes—which was exactly how difficult it was for Khadgar to manage something as simple as hot liquids—and not once did he complain. By the time the mug was gone, Khadgar's breathing had eased, but his exhaustion was plain. He was swaying in his chair … and thus Medivh made an executive decision. Certainly he could levitate him, but warmth was badly needed. Taking his cloak off, he wrapped it around his dazed apprentice, and in one smooth motion, he scooped him up.  
  
Medivh wasn't young, but he wasn't in poor shape.  
  
Just as the light winked out, Medivh caught Moroes' shadow falling beside him.  
  
“M'lord?”  
  
“I am taking him to my quarters.”  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
  
A/N: I had no idea Medivh and I would get along so well. Whelp. Learn something new every day. I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Two:**  
  
       The fact that Khadgar didn't protest was duly noted. As Medivh settled him onto the thick duvet that topped his bed, the boy barely made a sound. He had already exhausted himself trying to breathe, let alone keep up with daily tasks; and adding in that the herbs he had been given encouraged sleep, Medivh had a drowsy apprentice. At least he hoped that was the case, he really wasn't trying to poison him.  
  
Moroes had closed the door behind them, and was now attentively stoking the fire—as practiced an attendant as Medivh could have wanted. Truthfully, he found the other man's company reassuring. Khadgar looked terrible, humans were fragile, and Medivh was not fit to care for a Dalaran goldfish, let alone nurture a child.  
  
The wind was still howling outside the tower, but the fire was defeating it rapidly. The Guardian's quarters were always warm, sometimes with the help of arcane magic. Tonight was one such night. The bricks around the room had been enchanted to stay as warm as the hearth, and the climate was pleasant enough.  
  
“Look at you,” Medivh sighed.  
  
Khadgar turned tear filled eyes to Medivh; the mage grunting when he noticed the ink streaking across one cheekbone, and the dust that had more or less settled there like feathers on tar. “No. Definitely not. You are not sleeping on my bed when you're this filthy. I forbid it.”  
  
At that, the boy looked properly chastised; nodding grimly before attempted to sit up—which he wasn't actually able to do.  
  
“I didn't say you couldn't, I am implying that you are at least going to wash your face before you touch one of my pillows.” With that, Medivh pushed the boy back to the mattress with a well placed—but somehow fond—shove against sternum. Khadgar flopped back over with a moan, and a pitiful barking cough.  
  
Medivh couldn't help wondering what, in the name of everything good, he was doing. The poor boy was clearly damaged. Someone like himself was not a good choice to take on an apprentice. This whole thing had been a terrible idea on the part of the Kirin Tor, and it had never worked out before so … “Moroes? I need—”  
  
“—Water, I am warming some now, M'lord.”  
  
“Can you add some Silversage to—”  
  
“—Already done.”  
  
“Light bless you.” Medivh couldn't help sounding panicky and overwhelmed, but the look Moroes gave him was just this side of comical. The man was too well-bred to comment on the Guardian's state, but there might have been a hint of empathetic humor in his carefully schooled affect.  
  
When Moroes brought over a steaming basin of water, the frazzled mage decided it was best to attend to his task before the nerve left him completely. Removing Khadgar's shawl pin and cloak—which Medivh set aside, the poor thing was as moth-eaten as it was mangy, and it needed to be replaced—he settled himself to the side of the bed. Then, dipping the cloth he was offered into the basin to wet it, he wrung the excess out and leaned over to wipe Khadgar's face.  
  
At first the boy looked like he might pull away, but as hot cloth spread soothing silversage down throat and neck, he began to relax. It had to feel good to be rid of the dust and sweat. A proper bath was necessary, but until Khadgar was strong enough, a wiping down would have to do the trick.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Khadgar finally asked, words slightly slurred. Medivh was resting the hot cloth against his aching throat, letting the steam aid the boy's breathing. “I thought you hated me?”  
  
“Hate you?” Medivh did his best to sound surprised Khadgar felt that way. “Avoiding you, maybe. But hate, you? No.”  
  
“Oh, that makes it much better,” Khadgar rasped, looking like he was about to cry again.  
  
Oh no. No. No no no. People crying, especially children, made Medivh _uncomfortable_. Well, not that Khadgar was a child, more like a young man, but at Medivh's age … “Listen, if you promise not to cry, I will sleep next to you, yes? That way if you need me, I will be right here.” Damnit. That was not what he had meant to say, but his guilt had gotten the better of him.  
  
Khadgar tried to give him a smile, but it didn't quite reach the boy's eyes.  
  
“Moroes, one of my spare tunics?” Medivh ordered, still trying to keep his cool. His attendant, as usual, was ahead of him—already offering out a thin, soft, and aged tunic that had long ago been retired for sleep.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Of course, M'lord.”  
  
Khadgar was watching Medivh with a sort of drugged wonder, the sting of awkward words forgotten as he tried to puzzle out what to make of his master. Master. Medivh winced. Fine. So he was. This was his apprentice. He couldn't very well return him now, could he? Besides, if he did, the Kirin Tor would just bloody well send another, and this one wasn't completely useless.  
  
Carefully helping the boy out of over and under tunic, the mage set about washing down chest, back and underarms. The relief on Khadgar's face might have been worth it; and after rinsing the cloth several times, Medivh started on arms that were smudged with ink. That went well right up until he wiped over the brand on the boy's inner forearm. Khadgar cried out at that, and jerked the limb back as if he had been burned again.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Medivh said automatically. “It still pains you?”  
  
Khadgar had given himself a coughing fit for having moved so quickly, but when it subsided, he nodded, head hanging in shame.  
  
“Do not be sorry to tell me something hurts. Never silence your voice, Khadgar. You're much too kind and talented to not be heard.” Medivh couldn't meet the boy's eyes, unable to believe what he had said _now_. Khadgar seemed to take comfort in it, though; and once they had stuffed him into a clean tunic and helped him shed his boots, he was almost asleep.  
  
“You should rest, M'lord,” Moroes said quietly, noticing that Medivh, too, looked ready to drop.  
  
“But …”  
  
Moroes gave him a knowing look. The sort that was, and wasn't, chastisement. “Boots off.”  
  
Medivh groaned, but he let the other man help him. By the time he had settled himself back to the pillow, Khadgar had somehow found a way to worm up against his side—then cough—until Medivh was afraid the boy would break a rib. Luckily, Moroes had a cure for that, too.  
  
Without asking his master, the patient attendant propped Khadgar up until his cheek was pillowed over Medivh's heart. Angling him upright eased his breathing exponentially, and in moments he had drifted off, his hands twisted into Medivh's tunic.  
  
As Moroes dragged one of the heavy quilts from the foot of the bed up over master and apprentice, he spared Medivh a smile. The Guardian hadn't been aware of how exhausted he was, and was dozing along with Khadgar—one big hand wrapped around the boy's forearm, cradling the brand there gently.  
  
Interesting.  
  
Moroes had a feeling that this one would be staying.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Now polished up  <3 I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

  
       When Medivh woke, he could feel Khadgar's eyes on him. Twice during the night he had risen to give the boy more of the draught he had made. Each time, Khadgar had been meekly compliant, and as limp as a drowned kitten under Medivh's hands. The guardian was beginning to worry. He hadn't expected an instant recovery, but this was not the usual bouncing back of youth. Khadgar was sick. Very sick.  
  
Moroes had helped him wash the boy down with silversage each time the fever spiked, and each time he had been stuffed back into a clean—if too big—tunic of Medivh's. He still looked thin, drawn, and pale; though if it could be believed, the worst of the fever had finally broken around dawn.  
  
Worry knotted Medivh's gut—and worry about others was something he had tried to leave in the past. The problem was, it wasn't all that easy to do. Especially when the being in question was giving him the saddest, big brown eyes possible.  
  
The boy was a heart breaker.  
  
“How do you feel?” Medivh asked; voice deep with exhaustion, and tone as flat and unimpressed as always.  
  
Khadgar peered up from where he lay against his master's chest, seemingly debating his response—his mouth opening and closing several times without forming words. Then again, maybe he still couldn't breathe terribly well. That had to be it, Medivh decided.  
  
“Why are you helping me?” The boy finally managed; hurt lacing his words, his eyes both hopeful and wary.  
  
“You are my apprentice.” Medivh answered as if it should have been obvious.  
  
“You want me?”  
  
Those three fragile words stabbed the elder mage straight through the heart; then the desperation in those bewildered, tear-filled eyes finished the job of proverbially ripping it out. In the moment, Medivh found himself short of breath, too. The boy was going to be the death of him. He thought of a dozen different reassuring things to say, and he meant to say them. What came out was completely different.  
  
“Of course not,” he answered arrogantly, the response brokenly knee-jerk. “You are merely another responsibility I never asked for. Honestly, you've kept me up at all hours when I should have been researching, and you would think the Kirin Tor could send someone _competent_ if they must insist.”  
  
“Oh,” Khadgar responded. The one word revealed his feelings of betrayal, and ended in a watery sound of apprentice suffering.  
  
“Don't cry.” Medivh sighed, grimacing at himself in disgust.  
  
“Why not?” Khadgar asked, tears streaking his face as he sniffed. There was some strange, trusting processing playing across the boy's countenance—as if he simply couldn't _not_ believe in Medivh, and saw through more than he said; not that he said much.  
  
“It makes it harder to breathe,” the guardian said matter-of-factly.  
  
“Why do you care?” The words were hurt, but there was a spark of hope in Khadgar's visage—as if he had caught on to the game, and by sheer will he could make Medivh like him if he didn't fall into despair.  
  
“Because I don't like it when you cry.” Medivh finally folded, looking put out.  
  
Khadgar had won, and the boy knew it.  
  
“Then don't throw me away. Let me earn your trust,” Khadgar said; steely determination etched into brows where pain had dwelt before. And then he barked out another cough, doubling up against the older mage's chest as he tried to breathe.  
  
Medivh slipped arms around him to help him sit up, bracing them both against the headboard until the fit had passed.  
  
Khadgar gave Medivh a wrung-out look, which the older mage returned moments before he cradled the boy to his shoulder again. Stroking that dark, sweat damp hair, he considered their options. “The Twilight Grove.”  
  
“What?” Khadgar asked, voice ragged.  
  
“Come. This can wait no longer. Moroes! My cloak!”  
  
Medivh didn't like admitting defeat, but he simply wasn't an herbalist or a healer, and all of the above was what Khadgar needed.  
  
~*~  
  
       It was doubtful that this was the first time Khadgar had seen a Kal'dorei, yet he was tellingly still as the big druid knelt beside him in the grass. The boy was burning up with fever again, but remained lucid enough to be aware of a night elf's pure strength and size; and he flinched as Kavin reached down to cup his head in one large hand. Cradling the curve of Khadgar's skull in his palm, the healer trailed his free fingertips along his pulse point, looking and listening for something that Medivh could put no name to.  
  
Kavin Strongbow had been a good friend for half a century or more. If Medivh was honest, he had lost track of the time they had known each other, but he was thankful for him in this moment. Medivh had carried the boy through a portal and laid him down here, in the cool, tall grass of the Twilight Grove; and Kavin was now tending him.  
  
Nestled within Brightwood, the area housed a portal to the Dream, and the night elves often paused here in their ventures. Luckily for Khadgar and himself, Kavin had been rotating through, harvesting more peacebloom. He was a freshly appointed archdruid; and although his position was new, his experience was not. The Kal'dorei was a gifted healer.  
  
Khadgar coughed fitfully as clawed fingertips pressed carefully at his throat. A long, rattling wheeze followed his gasp for air, and Kavin stroked his hair. “Easy, little mage. I have just the thing for this.”  
  
“What is it?” Medivh asked, looking anxious.  
  
Kavin's ears tilted as he smiled secretively at Medivh. “Wouldn't you like to know, Wizard?” he teased.  
  
Medivh didn't reply, knowing the druid was trying to get a rise out of him. “Maybe I don't want to shelve my own books anymore,” he shot back.  
  
“No concerns there, but lucky you brought him to me when you did. Pneumonia requires strong herbs and much rest. A touch of wild Darkshore honey would not be remiss, either.” The young mage was all eyes and trembling as he followed the discussion, and Kavin waved his fingertips over his forehead as he laid him back into the grass. For a moment, there was a glimmer of green, and then Khadgar fell asleep with a look of consternation on his face—a simple sleeping spell enough to roll him under.  
  
Glad to see the stress relieved for his patient, Kavin draped his own ragged cloak over the boy before rising from where he knelt. “Come with me,” he instructed, nodding his head toward a sizable, open sided building beside the portal.  
  
Medivh followed along more grudgingly, glancing back toward Khadgar in worry. The boy could be devoured by wolves if he wasn't looked after; and Medivh wouldn't be able to live with himself if it came to pass. His apprentice. Eaten by a rabid thistlebear. Swarmed by murlocs. Devoured by dryads. _Light! He needed sleep._ Rubbing his forehead, the reluctant mage looked to his old friend. “What is it?”  
  
“You're a Shitwizard,” Kavin sighed, coming to a stop at the top of the steps into the healing reagent alcove.  
  
“I am not. You know well enough murlocs don't have a word for 'mage' in their language.”  
  
“They do now. And that is exactly what you are.”  
  
“I don't deserve this, Kavin, I have no idea what that singular incident twenty years ago has to do with Khadgar toda—”  
  
“—And you're shit at taking care of your apprentices.”  
  
Medivh looked insulted but he brought himself up short, expression softening. The night elf had a point … and an odd knack for grasping human colloquialism. It was admirable, and intimidating.  
  
“Alright, I admit it. I'm a Shitwizard. Are you happy? Now help the boy.”  
  
“Is that a modicum of caring that I detect, Guardian?”  
  
Medivh just crossed his arms and glowered, Atiesh floating behind him moodily. “I should never have taught you to curse in Common before anything else.”  
  
“Is that not the joy of learning a new language?” Kavin asked cheekily.  
  
“That potion. For Khadgar. Now.”  
  
“Yes, Guardian,” Kavin drawled, clearly teasing.  
  
Medivh looked back again, gaze flicking toward the boy huddled in the grasses, expression surprisingly vulnerable.  
  
“He's sleeping, Medivh. Not dead.”  
  
“I know that.”  
  
“I'm sure you do.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: The way Medivh and Kavin bicker :D ... I also love the way Khadgar refuses to stay down for long; and while Medivh comes off as a major asshole, he is actually trying not to be. Good thing the important people in his life can see through all that, huh? Er, anyway. Enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Four:**  
  
       It had taken Kavin at least ten minutes to coax Medivh into cradling Khadgar. Nevermind that the Guardian had carried the boy here, the way he touched him now seemed haunted. The sleeping spell the younger mage was under was clearly bringing back dark memories; still Medivh was trying, and Kavin was proud of him for that. It was not easy to pry the guardian from his shell, and it was downright incredible to see him openly caring for another.  
  
Kavin had spent enough time with Medivh to know that he feared being manipulated as much as his mother had; and after what had happened with his father … he understandably feared hurting innocents. But in the moment, it seemed he had overcome his past for this one apprentice—an apprentice that Kavin had no doubt Medivh was keeping. The Kal'dorei had never thought he would live to see the day.  
  
As Kavin lifted the spell, large hand passing over the boy's forehead, Khadgar's eyes fluttered open to focus dazedly on Medivh's face. And unwittingly, the elder mage's countenance softened with relief. Kavin knew it was telling, but he resolved to say nothing about it … although he might inform Lothar later. The man worried deeply about his friend. Kavin had been watching over Medivh when he could since allying with Aegwynn, many moons ago; and he did the best he could when he could. It was what she would have wanted.  
  
~*~  
  
       “Here. This will help. Drink,” Medivh said, his reserved tone level as he and Khadgar's gazes met; but his hand was shaking when he guided the wooden mug that Kavin had mixed the draught in.  
  
As understanding gradually dawned, Khadgar reached up to steady the mug; swallowing the moment the rim touched his lips. It was a struggle, but soon enough the younger mage had sat up and way from his arms and managed the mixture—though he might have made a face as the last of it passed his tongue. It didn't smell the greatest, and Medivh had no doubts it tasted worse than it looked.  
  
The guardian watched the boy impassively. He had no idea why he was doing this for him; Khadgar was not staying. That was all there was to it. He would see him well and take him back to Dalaran. Medivh was in no place to raise a proper successor, let alone make certain a novitiate didn't explode themselves. That had happened with the last one, and frankly, Medivh … hadn't ever recovered.  
  
“What is it?” Khadgar croaked, seeing the stricken look pass Medivh's face.  
  
“It's nothing,” The guardian said sternly, looking away as he lowered the mug to the grass.  
  
“That wasn't 'nothing',” Khadgar rasped, once again seemingly determined.  
  
The draught must have been made of stern stuff to be helping so quickly.  
  
“It was nothing, and don't even act as if you are familiar with me, because we? We are not friends. We are not close. You do not know me, and you are not staying.”  
  
Khadgar's lower lip jutted at that statement, jaw working as if he was swallowing what he really wanted to say. “I'm not leaving,” was what he settled for.  
  
“You will leave.”  
  
“Make me leave.”  
  
“I can, and I will. Once you are well you may pack your things.”  
  
“No.” Khadgar's eyes were filling with tears of rejection and frustration, brows tilting.  
  
“No?” Medivh asked, voice softening dangerously even as his heart ached. Why was he doing this? It was cruel. But he couldn't seem to stop himself.  
  
“No,” Khadgar rasped, finality in his tone as he pulled Kavin's ratty cloak closer around himself. He was still shaking from the sleeping spell.  
  
“What makes you think you are even vaguely worthy of my time?” Medivh baited, his own brow furrowed now. The nerve of the boy. The sheer _nerve_ …  
  
“The boy will stay, and you know it Medivh. You're just afraid, and in the end he will win. Why fight it?” Kavin asked, leaning against the railing of the ancient tree home behind him.  
  
“No one asked for your opinion, Kavin.”  
  
“And I do not care in the slightest. You're stuck with him. He's smart, capable, and has a conscience. That beats the last one that melted himself with an attempt at a portable mana bomb. I hate to say it, but perhaps, just perhaps—and for once in a hundred years—the Kirin Tor might be right about something. It pains me. It does. But it's true.”  
  
Medivh rose with a grunt of frustration, tapping Atiesh into the dirt as he prepared to shift into her raven form … when the boy gave in to another series of wracking coughs. He winced and paused, back turned as if he had frozen to the forest floor.  
  
“Are you really going to leave me?” Khadgar asked, resignation in his tone.  
  
Medivh didn't answer for a long time. The only sound was the call of frogs and crickets, and the poignant snap of crimson cloak in the breeze.  
  
“No,” the guardian finally answered, still staring stoically up at the stars through the canopy of tree branches above; they were yielding to the dawn, and even from beneath thick overgrowth, it was a beautiful sight to behold.  
  
Kavin nodded, his long ears bobbing as he gave Khadgar a sly smile, which the nervous young mage finally returned.  
  
“ _You_ will leave _me_ ,” Medivh finished his sentence several heartbeats later, a strange softness in his voice that was almost … wistful.  
  
Realizing that they were talking about something else altogether, and Medivh was no longer trying to be rid of him, Khadgar's anger and pain gentled into sudden empathy. The elder mage was afraid to lose him, to be alone again with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Medivh _liked_ him. “Oh, Medivh,” he whispered, almost below keen hearing level. Bracing himself, Khadgar's gaze fell on the other man's feathered cowl—which he was hiding behind, posture oddly vulnerable. “Guardian, I won't leave you. I am your novitiate.”  
  
“You are _a_ novitiate.”  
  
“The last one,” Khadgar promised, voice strained with the ache in his throat.  
  
“I know,” Medivh murmured, head bowing as he seemed to sag where he leaned against Atiesh. He looked beaten, and even Kavin took a worried step forward.  
  
“Is he well enough to travel?” Medivh asked, still not facing either of his companions.  
  
“He is indeed. I will send you with more of the draught. Twice a day for seven days should do the trick. And rest. Warmth and rest.”  
  
“I will see it done,” Medivh's posture turned more resolute as he considered the dawn's strange events. Good. If he accidentally poisoned this one, he could blame Kavin.

~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Give up, Medivh. You have a baby mage. Die mad about it.  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Five:**  
  
       Khadgar lay sleeping, curled into the down comforter that lay atop Medivh's bed. The boy was deeply, innocently dreaming, and Medivh afforded himself a weary sigh. Cook had come and gone, lecturing him about not eating—not about Khadgar taking over his space—and now he was alone with his thoughts again. Or not alone, it depended on the way one looked at it, he supposed.   
  
Khadgar murmured something nonsensical in his sleep, and before he could stop himself, Medivh reached out. Tangling his fingers through dark hair, he stroked it back out of Khadgar's face and draped his feathered cloak over him again. The boy needed a bath, but that could come later when the fever had fully broken. It was as he leaned over, adjusting the lay of the fabric to prevent the younger mage catching a chill, that he felt another presence close to his. The weight of that gaze was like pressure between his shoulder blades, and he knew it could only be Moroes. Looking up, he saw the tired attendant waiting in the doorway, a tray balanced expertly across one open hand.   
  
“Moroes?”   
  
“I brought you both something to eat. Cook insisted.”  
  
“She would.”  
  
“She cares.”   
  
His words were firm enough to ruffle Medivh, and he tilted his head dangerously to look up to Moroes. “It isn't like you to speak out of turn.”   
  
“It _is_ like you to act childish when you are frightened. What are you afraid of?” Moroes set the tray down on the stand next to the bedside, expression as inscrutable as always, but he had landed the first blow.  
  
The reprimand bit deep, and Medivh grunted, turning to look away while reaching for Atiesh, then froze. He had been reaching, and he couldn't deny it.   
  
“Even now you are running, or thinking about it.”  
  
“What is it to you?!” Medivh snapped, his temper surging reflexively. He let go of his staff as if stung, and turned back toward his attendant, threat of retaliation in his posture.  
  
Moroes didn't flinch in the slightest, but he did put a hand to the guardian's shoulder, which Medivh attempted to shrug off. Moroes wouldn't let go until those serious gray eyes bit into his. Then, after nearly a minute of fierce wordless clashing, Medivh sagged, head hanging as he looked away—defeated. “This is the one.”   
  
“Yes, of course he is.”  
  
“This is the one that I will be saddling with … _this_.” He gestured helplessly around himself. “With _me_. With all the responsibility and power. And it's wrong. No one man should hold this.”   
  
“Then share the burden. The two of you can work together, it does not mean the end, Medivh. Perhaps this is just the beginning. You put too much stock in prophecy, considering you profess to mistrust the Kirin Tor.”  
  
“I hate them.”   
  
“I chose mistrust out of tact,” Moroes sighed. Sitting down beside Medivh on the edge of the bed, he reached for a mug of tea on the tray, pushing it into a hand that went from unwilling to needy in a heartbeat. Moroes studied the boy, his breathing and his temperature by pressing his hand to his forehead. “When is he due for more medication?”   
  
“As soon as he wakes. I was hoping after he ate something.” Medivh took a weary sip of tea.  
  
Moroes said nothing, only giving the guardian a look that reprimanded him for having a smart comment about Cook. She had known what they both needed.   
  
“I'm sorry,” Medivh blurted, the words rushed but clear.  
  
Moroes had tremendous personal restraint because it was obvious he was biting back the 'you will be' hovering on the tip of his tongue. “Do you want my assistance?”   
  
Khadgar moaned softly, dry lips parting as he took a raspy breath, It sounded terrible, but he was already doing much better, and the sleep had clearly helped.   
  
“Please,” Medivh said, reaching for a cup of moonberry juice on the edge of the tray (now thanking Cook silently for her prescience). He measured a dose of medication into it, and then prepared to help Moroes.   
  
Between the two men, they managed to wrangle Khadgar upright, and as his head tilted back against Moroes' chest, he finally blinked his eyes open. “Medivh?” he croaked.   
  
“Right here,” Medivh's quiet voice was surprisingly reassuring, even to his own ears. There were tears in Khadgar's eyes when he pressed the mug to the boy's lips, helping him drink; and as the guardian tilted it away, he ran a curled forefinger beneath his eye—wiping one of the trails away beneath lowered lashes. “Why tears?” he murmured.   
  
Khadgar's hand reached up, curling over Medivh's. The guardian almost looked frail by comparison, even though it was the boy who was sick. “Because, Sir … I've never had anyone take care of me before. I barely remember my siblings, and they were the ones who held me when I was small. I've never …”   
  
Khadgar trailed off into a coughing fit, and Medivh froze as if struck by an ice spell. His heart ached in his chest, and he felt more than saw the look on Moroes' face. “I am bad for you, Young Trust.”  
  
“No, you're not. You're my mentor. I believe in you,” Khadgar rasped, sounding both mystified and determined.   
  
“Finish the cup,” Medivh replied, his expression ever so briefly stricken. Moroes kept staring at him knowingly, and when Khadgar had finished the drink, he found himself wrapping his arms around him protectively. Willingly he pulled the boy to his shoulder, letting him curl into the curve of his neck to cry. And when Khadgar's fingers tightened desperately in his tunic, he kissed into that sweaty, tangled hair. “I'm sorry,” Medivh whispered hoarsely. “You deserve to be wanted, Khadgar. Never forget that, and don't let me forget, either. You are a good person. You were wasted on the Kirin Tor, but I … will teach you all that I know. And a day will come when I will give you all that I am.”  
  
The boy was shaking, a sob passing his lips as Moroes wrapped his shoulders in the comforter, giving Medivh one last deliberate glance before he rose, taking his leave silently.  
  
And resting his cheek to the boy's shoulder, Medivh finally didn't look after Moroes pleadingly as he had been—as if no longer afraid of being left alone with fate. “I will keep you, Young Trust.”   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
 **A/N:** And Medivh finally folds. It's not a chapter if he's not fighting it.  
  
 **The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Six:  
  
**        Medivh held Khadgar until the sobs became hiccups, using his sleeve to dry tears. He couldn't say what had brought on the affection he felt for the boy, but it was there. It was difficult to not like him. The guardian sighed at himself, and the situation in general. Exhaustion had wrapped itself around him and was squeezing, and he knew that he would have to yield at some point—he was practically swaying as it was. Perhaps he could check on his charge's fever, and then curl up on the corner of the bed. Not intrude, just … rest.  
  
Pressing his palm to forehead, Medivh found Khadgar's brow cool; and the barking cough had eased as well. Kavin's herbalism skills were second to none. The boy was worn ragged from trying to breathe and didn't fight him, so Medivh settled his hand against broadening chest to feel for wheezing or rails. Still nothing. Victory was theirs. Of course, he would make sure Khadgar finished out the course of the draught, but it was relieving to know that he hadn't killed another apprentice. Not yet, at any rate.  
  
“That's much better,” Medivh said, watching dark lashes that had been drifting closed blink open blearily. He felt that innocent brown gaze the way the owner of a sick puppy or kitten did, and his chest was seized by the twin demonic grip hooks of guilt and responsibility. What was he doing? “Lie down. You need rest. When you are well, we will begin your training.”  
  
“The Kirin Tor have—”  
  
“—The Kirin Tor are idiots,” Medivh interrupted Khadgar.  
  
“But I—”  
  
“—I know they taught you a great many things. Some of which you have most rightly identified as nonsense, and developed your own ways of going about. But what I am going to teach you is practical. It will protect you from harm, Azeroth from danger, and keep _them_ from reaching you at their whim.”  
  
“I … thank you, Guardian … Sir ...”  
  
The boy was trying to be polite, but was also fighting his eyelids for supremacy.  
  
“Don't thank me. You don't thank me for something like this. Just … don't get yourself blown up? Please?” Medivh would beg for that. He really would. He couldn't bear it again.  
  
“I haven't yet—”  
  
“—And the year is young. Boy, it took us two weeks to finish cleaning up the library! To this day I'm finding … fragments.” Medivh heard Khadgar swallow dangerously, and realized he was nauseous. Well … good. Let the gravity of the situation sink in.  
  
Just then, there was the click of the door latch, and Medivh glanced up. It was obvious from the look on Moroes' face that he had overheard what was said—he was clutching a set of towels and a pair of what had been old sleep clothing of Medivh's—Oh. So that was where he had gotten to.  
  
“Medivh.” Moroes' voice was stern, nay, even corrective.  
  
Medivh sighed again. “I will protect you," he promised. "Just... don't overdo it. If you don't know how something works, ask. If we need to learn something together, we will.” The guardian found himself sinking toward the pillows and taking Khadgar with him. That wasn't how he had intended it to be, how he intended _anything_ to be; from lying down with his arms around the boy, to the outcome of the last few weeks of active denial of his responsibilities.  
  
As he settled, he felt Khadgar's heavy head find the curve of his shoulder. The boy fit there naturally, and when Moroes leaned in to cover them both in the comforter, the guardian didn't complain. Khadgar's fingers shyly found the long, dark strands of Medivh's hair, tangling there reflexively while the older man's hand began to trace slow circles along Khadgar's ribs. The boy was a steady and comforting weight, no longer fevered, but fragile and tired; snd If he was honest, Medivh felt the same way. This boy … this young life. This person … was his. To care for, to guide and protect—and he was glad when Khadgar drifted off trustingly into a dreamless sleep; he couldn't feel his hands shaking that way.  
  
Moroes had not left, remaining perched on the edge of the bed—his expression attentive in a way that suggested that Medivh needed him. The guardian did, but he didn't want to admit it.  
  
“Come now, Master Medivh.”  
  
“I'm afraid. There are you happy now?” Medivh finally admitted, the first two words rushing over one another like an updraft through summer grasses; otherwise, the room was silent. Khadgar wasn't wheezing anymore.   
  
Medivh felt exposed despite the blankets.  
  
“I know,” Moroes said quietly. “But you are certain, now?”  
  
“I'm certain.”  
  
“This one?”  
  
“There could be no other. Don't make me question it again.”  
  
“He is gentle.”  
  
“Maybe I want it that way, even if I don't deserve it.”  
  
“It is your choice, M'lord.”  
  
“And his.”  
  
“I think he has already made up his mind.”  
  
“But why?” Medivh looked pained, even as exhaustion crept up over him, too. “He cannot possibly know what he wants, he's barely a young man!”  
  
“It is _his_ mind to make up, not yours, and in a month he will no longer be a boy.”   
  
This brought Medivh up short. “What?”  
  
“His birthday is in a month. It will be his coming of age.”  
  
“Does he know that?” Medivh asked, sounding more mystified by the second—and vaguely terrified for Khadgar in a way that defied explanation.  
  
“Did you read the letter the Kirin Tor sent, informing you that they were relinquishing guardianship to you?”  
  
“No, Light! No.” Medivh tensed like he was debating trying to sit up.  
  
“Stay down,” Moroes said sternly. “Get some rest. Your troubles will still be here once you have had proper sleep.”  
  
“That's something else I'm afraid of.”  
  
“Isn't everyone?”  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N** : Medivh's hyperventilation is gradually intensifying. I'm waiting for it to sink in. I really am.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Seven:**

       It had taken the work of two men to get Khadgar into the bath—then Moroes had disappeared like fog before the morning sun, and Medivh had been left holding a washcloth and looking lost. He regarded the boy helplessly; and Khadgar belied his worries pleasantly, blessing him with a weak but hopeful smile that made the guardian's stomach bottom out somewhere around his toes.  
  
How could the boy keep smiling like that? How? The brand on his arm stood out like a beacon against pale flesh and the snow white of porcelain, a crime against a life; and Medivh had to fight down the audible swallow threatening in the tightness at the hollow of his throat. He had to do better than the Kirin Tor, but could he? When it came down to it, hate them though he did, were his motives really more principled than Dalaran's?  
  
Sick. The boy was sick—although he would soon be a man by law, he _still_ needed help. Help which Medivh wouldn't make him ask for; Anduin Lothar had taught Medivh a thing or two about pride, and he would not tread on the many headed, fragile serpent if he could help it.  
  
He took a wary step closer, then hesitated again.  
  
The bathing chamber held the chill bite of fall wind despite the fire heating it. The temperature was pleasant enough compared to the outdoors, but most likely not to one who had been running a fever. Yet somehow, Khadgar remained undaunted … if somewhat wilted.  
  
Serenaded by the crackling of fire in the bathroom hearth, the boy was half-draped against the edge of the tub—pale, breathing stilted but improved all things considered—and for the guardian, it wasn't the presentation of physical fragility that was staying his indecisive hand; it was the trust in those warm brown eyes. No matter how everything else about him faded, the strength of spirit in the boy overwhelmed Medivh. But t his time, the elder mage's response was not defensive, or even angry. He just wished he knew what he was supposed to do. There was no instructional tome for this.  
  
“I'm sorry, I can usually take care of myself. I've been a mess lately. I'll try harder,” Khadgar said, lucid enough to speak up in the moment—his humility tried by the need for help and nudity, but tempered by relief.  
  
He cocked his head at Medivh, and the mage knew he had lost any chance at subtly.  
  
“Are you … afraid of me?” Khadgar asked resignedly, a quavering sadness in his raw throat.  
  
Medivh's hands twisted the dry washcloth convulsively in reply, and he bowed his head with a rueful laugh.  
  
“I can do it myself, Sir. You're the Guardian, you shouldn't be looking after someone like m—”  
  
“—That's not it,” Medivh interrupted, outwardly bemoaning his own stupidity.  
  
“Then what … is there something wrong with me?” Khadgar's eyes were so hazel they were almost gold, an edge of panic in their depths.  
  
Medivh mentally shook himself. This was pitiful. What was he _doing_? “No, Khadgar. There is nothing wrong with you. It is myself that I question.”  
  
Striding to the tub at last, the guardian pulled a bathing stool up to the edge—and as he sat he draped the cloth over the edge of the tub. Loosening the top of his robes, he slipped out of the fabric; and letting it fall around his waist, he rolled up his undertunic sleeves. Khadgar was watching him, lips slightly parted … shaking. Was the water not warm enough? Medivh dipped his wrist in. No. Just this side of too hot for a dragon and well heated by the arcane sigil beneath it. So …  
  
Reaching up, he cupped Khadgar's face in his hand—and he would have been lying if he said he didn't feel the arcane jolt between them as their auras twined. Oh. Now that was … interesting.  
  
“Sir?” Khadgar asked again.  
  
“Medivh. Just Medivh,” the guardian replied. He cupped a handful of water as he supported Khadgar's head and neck in his hand, then sluiced it over pale forehead. Dark lashes fluttered closed, and Medivh watched the boy's pulse race at the closeness. At being touched. “Are _you_ afraid?” he asked in return, voice raspy as he reached for the cloth—soaking it, and then using it to wet Khadgar's hair.  
  
Khadgar swallowed hard where his cheek rested in Medivh's palm, and as brown eyes opened again, there was another fine haze of tears there. “Not if you're here,” he murmured, licking the water from his lips as his water-warmed hand came to clasp Medivh's wrist, seeking comfort the way a newborn kitten nuzzled into the warmth of its mother's belly.  
  
Oh. Medivh's stomach clenched at the response, but he knew it was pointless to remind Khadgar that he _should_ fear him. He wanted to—as if he could somehow save him, them, from the decision that was already made—but the guardian knew better. It wouldn't change anything. Nothing could. Khadgar was the one Medivh had been seeing in his visions; some of which were nightmares, but others were not. He needed the boy. He didn't want to need him. After Lothar, he didn't want to need anyone again. But there was Khadgar. Here, real. This was … real. The first thing that had felt real in Karazhan in ages.  
  
Medivh's hand faltered, and he felt the boy's thumb rub against his wrist gently.  
  
“Medivh?”  
  
“I'm sorry,” Medivh answered. Why was his voice shaking? Why was he shaking? Were they both? _Light please, don't let me care about you. Please, not again_ …

“Don't be?”  
  
Medivh's heart hurt. What were the Kirin Tor thinking, sending him someone this soft? He knew. He knew, and he hated himself. Them. Everyone involved but Khadgar. He moved again, reaching for the soap. He had never bathed someone else before, and he couldn't even remember his father doing this for him when he was a child. Aran must have, but he couldn't recall it. There was so much he couldn't recollect. So many things that hadn't happened but should have. But this … this was supposed to. And he wanted to be angry about that, too. Why now? Why … _now_. He kneaded his fingers through sweaty hair, scrubbing carefully, mindful that skin probably still ached from fever.  
  
“So tell me …” Medivh began, realizing he was making this even more awkward—where the hell was Moroes?! Medivh was not good at caring for people. Not good at all—Khadgar's touch relaxed at his wrist, his hand going slack, thumb stilling as he hummed softly in relief. “... What is the focus of your studies?” Medivh continued awkwardly, wincing at how strange the conversation felt to him. “I don't mean what the Kirin Tor have forced you to learn, I mean, what are you passionate about?”  
  
He hadn't missed that the boy had been up night and day gorging on books in the library like it was all that was sustaining him. It probably had been.  
  
Khadgar's eyes brightened at that. “Shields and portals … I love it,” he said, the first real notes of excitement he had heard in the boy since he had arrived. Not that he had been paying proper attention to him, because he hadn't. It surprised the guardian, and it shouldn't have. Khadgar was a mage, and a scholar. He seemed to love helping people, or he wouldn't have wound up here with Medivh. Funny, that. Despite needing Medivh, it was Medivh who had needed him more. Who _did_ need him.  
  
Damnit, he did. Not. Want. To. Need. Him.  
  
“Think about the possibilities, all the places it can take you! We could visit other worlds! And different times! I've been studying the bronze flight a lot, their work is incredible and...”  
  
The boy kept going. And going. And Medivh listened as he rinsed hair, then began to wash face and neck. Behind ears. Across the top of broadening shoulders. Under arms. He had gotten to Khadgar's back by the time the younger mage had run out of air, and given in to another coughing fit. Medivh had hoped that would be the end of it, but no. Khadgar kept talking. The boy was nothing but adoring looks and rushes of words—someone was speaking his language, had showed interest in something he was good at and … the guardian had Regrets.  
  
Yet he didn't stop the boy, either. It might have been … sweet to see how excited he was. And this was the furthest thing from dead he could be. Medivh hadn't bothered to get to know him before now, other than to simply avoid him. Now he might have been regretting it a little. This obviously meant a great deal to Khadgar. It wasn't about pride or power, prestige or advancement. Khadgar just wanted to help people; and that was perplexing, because Medivh had never known another like him.  
  
The guardian had just finished helping his apprentice from the tub and into clean clothing (a spare pair of Medivh's), and Khadgar had moved on to arcane theory, when the elder mage heard the door to his quarters groan open. Cook. She had brought them a meal. Perhaps this was a more polite out.  
  
“Yseran is nice, it's a great approach, but we can't rely on the Dream to—”  
  
“—Khadgar?”  
  
“—It should make sense, It does, I mean, but the book I found on the fourth floor quashed that theory and I cannot deny it. So, it's a theory, right? That means it's no more proven than—”  
  
“—Khadgar?”  
  
“I—” The boy finally seemed to draw a breath.  
  
“—Are you hungry?” Medivh was hoping that shoving food in his apprentice would buy him some quiet.  
  
“I … yes? I think. I …”  
  
“You have been formally introduced to Cook, haven't you?”  
  
“I guess I never have; she seems so nice, and I was afraid she wouldn't appreciate someone like me, she is busy all the time and I ...”  
  
“You were afraid to annoy Cook by asking for a meal, so you skipped meals, or brought what she offered you to me. That explains why Moroes has taken to leaving trays for you in the library. And here I was, thinking that you were just too dim to remember your way to the dining hall or the kitchens...”  
  
Medivh was obviously teasing, and Khadgar was trying to sort out if he was or wasn't.  
  
“Guardian, Sir? I … might have gotten lost a lot.”  
  
“You're too honest, Boy.”  
  
“I'm sorry … I'll try to do better … I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry!”  
  
Khadgar was dithering now, looking winded, and Medivh guided him to the stool so he could sit. It had taken two men to put him in that tub, and Medivh didn't want to have to levitate him if he didn't have to.  
  
“Khadgar. Stop apologizing. I will give you any book in this library _to keep_ if you stop apologizing.”  
  
“I'm s—Yessir.”  
  
“That's better.”  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** I love these two. I really do.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Eight:**  
  
       The older woman sat slowly to the edge of the bed. Medivh was off to attended his own needs, and the boy was looking at her the way an animal in a trap might. They had met before, mere brushes of time in which she remembered curious brown eyes, and more apologies than she cared for.   
  
Reaching out, she tightened the lacing of the spare tunic that the lad was borrowing from her master. It was part of an old set of nightclothes, almost threadbare in places, but it was most certainly comfortable. The boy smelled of herbs and soap, and despite his untended thatch of face and neck scruff, he seemed so very young. To Cook, he was. Peering over the top of her rose colored spectacles, she looked him over disapprovingly.   
  
“You're too thin, you are,” she announced.   
  
“Sorry,” Khadgar murmured; still under her hand as if drawing her attention might encourage her to attack him.   
  
Cook wasn't a lion. She sighed. “There is now't t' be sorry for, boy, except running from those who are trying to 'elp you. 'Ave enough of that from Master Medivh. Now, let's 'ave a better look at you, there's a lad.”   
  
She helped prop him up better against the pillows, and as he wriggled to comply she caught sight of the brand on his forearm. She said nothing, but the two of them shared a knowing look—in which Khadgar panicked all the more.  
  
“Where are you from?” she asked, pulling the blankets up around the boy's waist as she floated a bespelled tray into his lap. Kitchen witch charms were useful things.  
  
Khadgar blinked owlishly at her, as if trying to decide what the proper answer should be. “Dalaran?” he offered hopefully.  
  
“No, no. Not where the damned child-thieves raised you, I mean where were you born? Do you remember?” Cook was smiling at him like she knew something he didn't.   
  
He spared her a small, nervous smile as he looked at the meal on the tray in front of him, and there was suddenly a fine mist of tears in his eyes: thickly cut grilled toast swimming in butter, honeycomb, and cream—there was also spicy black tea, and battered fish with lemon … she already knew. “Is it really so obvious?” Khadgar rasped, voice still rough with his fading illness.   
  
“I'd know a lad from home anywhere, I would.”   
  
“We were poor. My mother thought it was best,” Khadgar whispered. “In Dalaran, you lose the accent fast.”   
  
“Luv, no. No, 's no shame in hailing from Gilneas. Glad you had a home, I am. Orphans are an even sadder state of affairs. Siblings raise you?”   
  
Khadgar nodded slowly, hand fisting into the sheets. “I can't even remember their names anymore.”  
  
“How could you? Damned Kirin Tor! Bad enough the way they already treat you, it is.”  
  
“They were … fine,” Khadgar said too rapidly, the expression on his face saying it hadn't been.  
  
“It's alright lad. It really is. It's over now, it is.”   
  
“Is it ever really over, Cook?” he asked her, his voice breaking.  
  
She paused, her hands finding their way from where they had been primly folded in her lap to take both of his, thumbs rubbing the curve of his broad palms. “You're a good lad. You're good for Master Medivh, and you're going to be a great Guardian someday.”  
  
“Am I really?” he asked her helplessly. “Medivh seems to hate me. One minute he's so kind, the next he doesn't want anything to do with me. I don't want the power, I don't want to take anything away from him. I just … want to help people. It's all I've ever wanted. It feels like I'm never doing enough. This is a privilege, to be a mage. An honor to serve the Kirin Tor ...” the next breath he took sounded wet, even though it had nothing to do with his illness. He bowed his head over his tray, shoulders shaking. “Thank you, Cook, for taking care of me. This looks good.” He changed the subject, not wanting to seem ungrateful.   
  
Cook sighed, her grip on his hands tightening as she nudged the hovering tray aside. “And you'll enjoy it, you will. But in a moment. The bad must out before the good can go in, 's how it goes, it does.” And then she slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to her breast, letting him wrap his arms around her and cry as he had no doubt needed to for years. “That's a lad, let it out, no harm in tears.”   
  
She held him for a time, until his sobs became fitful hiccups, and then she gently captured his chin, turning his tear-streaked face up to her. “Ye' do know that Master Medivh is scared, yes?”  
  
“Medivh? Afraid?” Khadgar asked. “Of what? He's the Guardian.”  
  
“Khadgar,” Cook's accent seemed to vanish into thin air, her eyes serious behind her spectacles. Gone was the gentle servant of the tower, and a razor-sharp witch took her place. “I know Master Medivh doesn't talk to you much, he doesn't to anyone, really; but I can assure you, he wants to. He aches to, but he is frightened.”  
  
“I can't hurt him, what's he afraid of, that I'll make conversation about the weather?”   
  
Cook laughed wearily, seeing the edge of gradually building panic in Khadgar's eyes. It was one thing to guess, and another to know one had guessed right.   
  
“Do you know how a Guardian passes on their power, Lad?”   
  
Khadgar shook his head. “I thought the former Guardian and the Council bestowed it in a ceremony.”   
  
Cook shook her head. “No. Not quite. Since you're here, and there's no going back now, I think you should know the whole truth. But it isn't pretty, so brace yourself. You'll need all the time you can get to get used to the idea, as will he.”  
  
“I think I want to beg you not to tell me.”  
  
“But you won't.”  
  
“But I won't.”   
  
Khadgar wiped his face on his sleeve, and Cook made sure she took both of his hands again. “When a guardian chooses a successor; when they truly bond with an apprentice that they have prepared to take their place, there is an air of finality to the act. It doesn't always, but very often—and especially in Master Medivh's case—means death. When he is too tired to go on, Medivh will transfer his powers to you, and cease to be. He is a different sort of Guardian. His abilities weren't bestowed on him, they were bred into him. His mother … she used him like a charm or a scroll. She conceived and birthed him for the express purpose of storing her powers in him, and to keep them away from the Council. So his powers? They are very much a part of him. When he passes on his power to you, he will most likely die.” There was far more to it than that, but Cook decided to keep it simple for the sake of lessening the severity of the blow.  
  
Khadgar's eyes welled with tears again, and he sniffed loudly, his face falling in horror. “No. I could never hurt him. I would never do that to him. Cook, there has to be some other way!”   
  
For an instant there was a surge of frantic energy surrounding the boy, as if he could physically get up and search out answers to a riddle with no end. “Shh, Khadgar. I know. I know. You don't like it. You wanted to help people, not hurt them. Not betray the person who trusts you most. And yes, he does trust you. That's what scares him more than death.”  
  
“He wants me to kill him?” Khadgar's voice was breaking.   
  
“I think he wants to die in the arms of someone who loves him. Who trusts him. Naturally this also terrifies him, it does.   
  
“I cannot … how can I ...”   
  
“Please don't tell him that I've told you, Khadgar. I'm sorry. I know it is a burden. You have a right to know this much. The remainders, I'll let him tell you. And I think he will, eventually.” Khadgar was shaking, and so she wrapped him deeper into Medivh's old cloak and quilt.   
  
“I won't do it. I'll go back to the Kirin Tor and tell them I won't be a sellsword. I underwent a dozen years of rigorous training to protect lives, not become a murderer!”  
  
Cook's expression went soft and vacant for a time before she turned to look at him again. This time she was considering him on more than one level. The boy was naive, and he had a lot to learn.“'Ow bout some toast before it goes cold, it does.”   
  
~*~  
  
       “Don't you dare,” Moroes said, one hand disapprovingly on his hip.   
  
“I simply need to check on the wards at the edge of the forest, I will only be a few day—”  
  
“—You're running away, Master Medivh. You have an apprentice, you have responsibilit—”  
  
“—to protect Tirisfal?”  
  
“—To teach the boy how to stay alive. You've accepted him now, which means your enemies are going to see the weakness you try to hide. No, scratch that, they will be certain of it if they had been questioning it before. None of us want you to die, Medivh. But if you are going to find a way through this, the boy is going to be the only way. One way, or the other.”   
  
“You're making a mountain of a molehill, Moroes. You are no longer part of the Kirin Tor, I expect better from one of mine.” Medivh sighed arrogantly, but the look on his face was just shy of panic.   
  
“Medivh.”   
  
The guardian tapped his staff on the floor, and a moment later was gone in a spray of feathers, winging his way out the open tower window nearest the kitchens.   
  
“Damn you!” Moroes snapped under his breath; receiving a raucous 'caw' in parting response. 

~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
**A/N:** Babiessssss you make my heart hurt. Ps: Medivh. Stop being a shit.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship with no underage. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Chapter Nine:**  
  
       “Look at you, Master Medivh, you're a mess, you are!” Cook had both hands on her hips as she stalked over to grab the guardian by the front of his robes, dragging him into the kitchen's arcane lantern light. Medivh followed her with a meekness which suggested he still had ingrained self-preservation skills. “What happened?” she demanded, reaching up to cup the curve of his cheek in one hand, the fingertips of the other patting along a bruise on his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose. There was a scrape at his temple, and his robes were soaked in blood and mud.  
  
“A ward didn't hold.”   
  
“That much I can see!” Cook scolded, pursing her lips in frustration, brow furrowing.  
  
Medivh would have continued the discussion, but he heard a soft sound from the doorway to the kitchens. He turned his head gradually, not ready for this conversation either, but there was no missing Khadgar's arcane signature.   
  
“You're back … what in the name of the Light happened?” Khadgar's brown eyes were wide and worried. Poised awkwardly in undertunic and trousers, he shivered in the cold of the pre-dawn chill of the tower. He wasn't worried about the impertinence of the question, only Medivh.   
  
Medivh blinked. “You'll catch your death standing there like that. You do have a proper set of robes, don't you?”   
  
Khadgar wasn't dissuaded. He crossed the room and threw his arms around Medivh's neck, hugging him tightly, burying his face into a shoulder splattered in demon blood.  
  
The guardian raised his arms slightly, turning to give Cook a helpless look as she backed out of the way to let the boy pass her. The older woman peered at Medivh over the top of her spectacles and mimed hugging Khadgar in return. Medivh's aura of helplessness intensified. “I'm perfectly fine, Khadgar. But you are ill and should be in bed, not standing barefoot in thin clothing in the middle of the kitchen. The oven is warm enough here, and the tiles do feel nice but I think that you sh—”  
  
“—He knows,” Cook said sternly.   
  
Medivh stopped mid-sentence, looking over at her.  
  
“How _could_ you?!” Khadgar sobbed, his arms tightening around Medivh's neck.   
  
The guardian could feel tears wetting down the stiff and filthy fabric of his robes.  
  
“How could you do this to me?! How. I can't kill you. I don't want to hurt you! I don't like hurting people! I'm supposed to protect Azeroth, not kill her Guardian. Medivh. Medivh, I can't—”  
  
“—Shh.” Medivh murmured, trying not to panic, finally putting his arms around his apprentice. “It will be well , Khadgar.”   
  
“No! It's not okay! Medivh, this is not okay!”   
  
Khadgar was trembling again where he hunched into his mentor's shoulder, and this time, not with fever. He was nearly taller than Medivh already, and he was not done growing yet. Thus, in any other situation their interaction might have looked ridiculous—yet it was anything but. Khadgar was nearly a man, but still so young, and Medivh wanted, no, _needed_ to say something. He should have had some words of comfort to offer. But he couldn't.   
  
This was part of becoming a man, this was part of growing up and becoming a guardian. Adulthood was about finding the right platitude, then failing to find any comfort in it, just like everyone else. “Khadgar?” Medivh asked softly, slowly tilting his cheek against that tangled hair. The boy was still freshly washed and smelled of soap. “Khadgar.” This time, the repetition of his name was firmer. “Would you follow me, please?”   
  
Medivh would have liked to have changed out of his filthy robes, but there was no time for that. Not right now.   
  
When Khadgar finally stepped back, tears soaking his face and glimmering  on the youthful stubble on the curve of his lip, Medivh used the clean inside portion of his sleeve to pat the wetness away.   
  
“It's important.”   
  
“I will tend your face I will, so you had best ...” Cook looked caught between two rants regarding the safety of the men in her life, and Medivh only dared interrupted her with an acquiescence.   
  
“I will bring us both straight back here when I am finished, Cook. Don't worry.” Medivh reached one hand out away from Khadgar's shoulder to cup her cheek gently, appreciatively, and some of the harshness left her features.   
  
~*~

       “You don't want to walk all the way up here, trust me,” Medivh said. He had ported them from the kitchen to the mana pool near the apex of the tower, and Khadgar was still clinging to his robes the way a frightened child might. The boy was coughing from time to time—and he was obviously stuffy and out of breath—but the guardian didn't flinch away. Khadgar was on the mend, and perhaps this would help to bolster his spirits.   
  
With bated breath, Medivh waited for the aura of the room to sink in; and smiling, Khadgar still tucked to his side, he watched where they were gradually dawn on the boy. “I like to come here when I need to think.”   
  
Wide eyed and still sniffling, Khadgar looked around. There was a pale blue ambiance to the entire place, a gloaming, if one would. There were a few old, dusty couches lining the edges of the dark wood and stone chamber, and in the center, a large, shallow pool gleamed. Underlit by the arcane, it all but thrummed with power.   
  
“Is that..?” Khadgar couldn't finish his sentence. “I've read about this, but I've never seen one. I know they occur in nature, and the Azure Dragonflight guards them jealously whenever they find one, but … in a tower?”  
  
“In the top of a tower, on top of a ley line, on top of one of the biggest convergences in Azeroth, with a Guardian and his apprentice to watch over it.”   
  
Khadgar looked caught between the wonder of what he was seeing, the joy of Medivh finally acknowledging him … and raw grief.   
  
“Come with me. It won't bite,” Medivh encouraged.   
  
Khadgar's hands fell away from the Medivh's robes, and he was left behind for a few steps before he seemed to shake himself, then half skipped to catch up—striding up to the guardian's side as if he had never hesitated. He was awkward and aflutter with curiosity, and it made Medivh laugh quietly to himself. Stepping out of his boots and rolling up his trouser legs, he then proceeded to sit at the edge of the pool and dip his feet in, relaxing against the hard stone edge as he felt the tingle of power calling to power.   
  
“You can't do that! Medivh it's sacred!” Khadgar was hovering again, eyes wide as he watched his mentor relax in the glow of the power.   
  
“I kept most of the demon blood out of it, sit. You won't hurt it.”   
  
“You were really fighting demons?”   
  
“I'm a Guardian, you know what a demon is, and what my job entails. Have you not faced one in your schooling?”   
  
Khadgar turned wide, worshipful eyes to Medivh. “You faced a demon?”   
  
“Demons. Plural.” Medivh corrected. “Why do you think I reek of sulfur?”   
  
“You were out fighting demons, and you didn't take me with you?”   
  
“I was out fighting demons, and I didn't take you with me,” Medivh confirmed.   
  
“I should be learning!”   
  
“You were dying of pneumonia last I checked, and scared of your own shadow. I would wager one demonic encounter would have finished the job.”  
  
“I'm still not going to kill you. I'm going to find a better way, Medivh. I will.”   
  
“Sit,” Medivh said, neither accepting nor denying as he patted the stone beside him. Khadgar scrambled to comply after another moment of hesitation, but he chose to sit cross-legged despite his bare feet.  
  
“I want you to touch it. There is nothing 'more sacred' about the arcane than there is any other element on Azeroth. You learn to respect it properly when you realize it's a part of you as surely as your eyes, or your teeth, or your hair; not when you treat it like it is a deity. It is not.” Medivh inclined his head at the pool.

Khadgar's knee bumped into Medivh's, then nestled against his thigh as he followed his gaze to stare into the crystalline liquid; contemplation written into every fiber of his being. Reaching down, the boy's fingertips had nearly skimmed the top of the pool when Medivh continued, shattering the trance the Khadgar seemed to be in.  
  
“Mind, I don't encourage you to touch everything in the tower. Most of the time, it's better that you don't. But here? Yes. This is one of the few truly safe places.”  
  
Khadgar gave Medivh an exasperated look, as if the man should have known how much effort it took to screw up his courage.   
  
Medivh sighed and shook his head, dark hair framing his face as he bowed his head, trying to find his patience. “Together, then.”   
  
Khadgar opened his mouth to speak, but then Medivh captured his hand and twined their fingers—and without a single modicum of hesitation, the guardian plunged their combined grasp into the pool. The boy gave a tiny cry—as if he was expecting it to hurt or give him an arcane shock; but then tightly squinted eyes fluttered cautiously open, and his mouth opened in a silent 'oh' of surprise.   
  
“Think of the arcane like blood. The ley lines are the veins and arteries of Azeroth. Through them flows the power of the arcane; Azeroth's life blood. Arcane is not the absence of the elements, but more of a combination of all of them and none of them at once. Inside of you and me, there are veins and arteries. Through them flows our blood, and in our blood is the natural ability to manipulate the arcane. We are a system, within a system, within a system. Do you follow?”   
  
Khadgar's eyes were wide as he realized just what he could _feel_ with his hand in Medivh's in the pool. He could sense where Azeroth's ley lines ran; could almost taste the trails of energy within himself, and the yawning font inside Medivh—that the elder mage would most likely have been able to keep hidden from anyone else in any other situation. Khadgar could feel the wards in the towers, and the boundaries that Medivh had made that spread around them to the forests—Yes! All the way to Stormwind! The young mage could have drawn a map if he wanted to. “Why? Why are you telling me this?!” The words came out sounding ungrateful to Khadgar's ears, but luckily, Medivh didn't take offense.   
  
“I am telling you this because you need to know it. You need to know that when you draw energy, it comes from somewhere, and when you're out of energy, there is a place to find more safely. You need to know why the demons want access to the ley lines, and you need to know not to fear a resource. And … there is one more thing.”   
  
Medivh's hand gently squeezed Khadgar's. “Feel me. Feel how when we are touching, the ley lines within us converge. Can you do that? It was probably the first thing you did when we touched the pool together, and you didn't even realize it. Over the next few weeks I am going to teach you to control the way the arcane within you connects to this realm's ley lines, and to other magic users in general. It is how I will be passing on my powers and knowledge to you, but it is also the way that a demon will try to hurt you first. To corrupt you with the Fel. Demons want to make you feel weak, Khadgar, but you are not. They will promise you all the power in all the worlds, to save yourself and those you love. But in the end, it is a lie. This is where the true power in the world is, in your hands and mine. In the arcane, pure and uncorrupted, not the Fel.”  
  
The look on Medivh's face was haunted and aching, but Khadgar didn't notice. He was still too lost in the thrill of the mana pool, and Medivh did not disrupt him. It was better he thought about this than the inevitable. That, and the guardian was all for side-stepping the conversations he didn't want to have.   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: I love how Medivh continues to be avoidant while actively trying to be a good mentor, and is still, somehow, not dealing with anything. This is a life skill he needs to teach me. This is also only my take on the metaphysical and the arcane, and I do not claim it is canon or even functional. Good day, and thank you for reading <3  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship. May become timeline divergent.
> 
> View all disclaimers here: https://mythlorn.tumblr.com/post/161659084696

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have moved past UST. You have been warned.

**Chapter Ten:**  
  
       Khadgar’s coughing fits had died off over the course of the week. His enthusiasm had not. Every time Medivh turned around the boy was there, watching his every move. But what concerned the guardian the most was motivation. Was it (unwise) hero worship, or did the boy see him as a mentor and father figure? Worse yet, did he believe Medivh was his friend? What had Medivh ever done other than listen _once_ to a rant about portals, in which he certainly hadn’t meant to lead Khadgar on. The guardian wasn’t sure about much anymore, but he wrestled with his increasing concern every day.  
  
He had seen Cook’s indulgent smiles. He had seen the knowing looks Moroes gave him; especially the last time he had steadied Khadgar’s shaking hand after a spell went out of control. He had seen the way Khadgar’s demeanor changed whenever he spoke to him, or called him by name, and Medivh thought he had it all somewhat in hand. It was a phase, it would pass. At least, that was what he told himself. He even thought that he was prepared; that there was no reason he couldn’t handle an adolescent apprentice, after all, he had been one himself!   
  
But he had not been ready, and that had been made excruciatingly clear when he tripped over the boy where he was sleeping outside his door in the hall.  
  
After their visit to see Kavin, Khadgar had spent a few more nights sleeping next to Medivh in his bed, snug and content but for a few transient fits of difficulty breathing. Then the guardian had (as gently as possible) moved him into one of the guest rooms four flights down in the tower. He had finally given him his own space—at least, that was what Medivh wanted to believe. But then the restlessness had set in.  
  
Medivh would retire for the evening, only to spend the entire night flying around the tower because it felt wrong without the boy’s warm weight against his side. He found himself fretting about his well being, and then checking on him, peering through his windows in raven form. Moroes had commented that the boy was voluntarily trekking to the libraries to do research at all hours despite being given a room. And now? Now it had culminated in … this.  
  
Medivh had opened the door, and promptly trod on his apprentice. “What. In the name of the Titans ... in the name of the Light and every Old God ... are you doing here!” he exclaimed over Khadgar’s mewls of distress—Before his first cup of tea the guardian’s mind was not as sharp as he wished it to be, nor were his reflexes.  
  
“M’sorry … M’sorry … I was just resting my eyes!” The boy said, standing unsteadily and dusting himself off—pulling the edge of his cloak out from beneath Medivh’s boot.  
  
Medivh opened his mouth to say something further, but then he took in Khadgar’s appearance. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, his face was tear-streaked and pale. His hair was awry, and his stubble looked far more unruly than it had before.   
  
“What is it?” Medivh finally asked.   
  
“I’m scared,” Khadgar replied, his breath hitching in his chest.   
  
“Whatever of? You’re a mage, Khadgar.”   
  
“Not a very good one, and this … I can’t fight. I can’t magic it away ...”  
  
“Nonsense, you’re my apprentice.”  
  
“I’m seeing things … in my dreams, Medivh. And I’m afraid they’re going to come true. They have before. I dreamed about my parents selling me to the Kirin Tor … and then? Then ...” Khadgar’s voice broke, and so did Medivh’s heart.  
  
The guardian stood there for several long heartbeats, watching Khadgar’s shoulder’s shake as he tried to swallow his sobs; watched his fingers rub convulsively at the brand on his forearm beneath his tunic. “Oh, Young Trust.” It surprised Medivh, as it always did when he found himself drawn to protect the boy, but between one moment and the next he had wrapped him into his arms, pulling him into the curve of his chest. Khadgar was growing. He would be taller than Medivh, soon, but that didn’t matter. “Come in.”  
  
Medivh could eat later. Right now, he and Khadgar needed to talk.  
  
~*~  
  
       Medivh settled Khadgar to the edge of his bed, studying the sleep marks on the side of the boy’s face. He was cold to the touch. The drafty hallways of Karazhan were no place to sleep, it was dangerous. It was what had made Khadgar sick to begin with … and it made Medivh feel guilty. Those warm brown eyes were following him with a sort of desperate hope that made him want to shout at the boy; to beg him not to look at him like that because he didn’t have the answers … and what he did know wasn’t comforting at all.   
  
Boy. Boy. He always thought of Khadgar as a boy, but in this moment he reminded himself that what he saw an uncertain young man. In less than a week he would _be_ a man by law, he would come of age. He could, if Medivh wished it, pass on his powers to him then and end the tension that had been building. He could end the charade, end the suffering of the corruption in himself. But Khadgar wasn’t ready, and neither was the guardian. He still had so much to learn. They both did.   
  
“Tell me what you saw,” Medivh commanded, feeling some basic human relief at allowing himself an out from potential suicide. He could see his breath in the air, so he used that as an excuse to stalk away and stoke the fire, to fuel the wards that would heat the arcane grid in the walls and floor. If Khadgar was coming of age, then there was the potential for the same dangers that had befallen him in his own youth. That thought had been haunting the guardian more than he wanted to admit.  
  
“I can’t. It’s why I’ve been up at all hours, I’ve been trying to find a cure. I know we don’t have a lot of time,” Khadgar said. His tone was honest and aching, and Medivh paused, putting down the fire iron. No. Oh no. Not this again.  
  
“Khadgar,” Medivh said, his back turned to his apprentice. “You can’t save me.”   
  
“How do you know that?!” Khadgar cried, rising from the bed, red-rimmed eyes filling with tears. He strode across the room to grab Medivh by the wrist and turn the older mage to face him. Medivh didn’t try to stop him.  
  
“I don’t want to be saved, Khadgar. I want this nightmare to be over!” Medivh snarled, his free arm gesturing in outrage as his mood shifted.   
  
But then Khadgar was close. So close. And the guardian couldn’t push him away. Broadening chest pressed against his, taking the menacing lean out of his posture, and Medivh was so astonished that even when big, gentle hands cupped his face, he didn't jerk back. He could feel the quill callouses on Khadgar's right hand, and there was a sort of painful, human innocence about that detail.  
  
“I know you’re scared, I am, too,” Khadgar whispered.   
  
Then his full lips were on Medivh’s, and the guardian tasted the salt of tears, the ache of exhaustion, and a kind of love he didn’t deserve but needed so very desperately. Common sense said he should stop this, but then Khadgar’s arms were around his neck and the boy was walking him backward to the bed—and any sort of sense fled.   
  
When the mattress hit the curve of Medivh’s knees, the older mage slumped back to the blankets; then Khadgar was crawling into his lap, and Medivh pulled him closer by the belt of his tunic as a warm tongue slipped into his mouth. He used the belt to tug the boy’s hips flush with his, and felt Khadgar give a needy rock in return. They were moving instinctively together as he wrapped his arms around the boy... and he let him in. He let him in and something in the guardian broke open … and he sobbed.   
  
The sound was swallowed up in the love and adoration of the kiss, and when their lips parted, Khadgar was pulling Medivh’s head down to his shoulder; was wrapping one strong hand at the nape of his neck as he stroked comfortingly.   
  
“I don’t want to die! I’ve barely gotten to live!” Medivh choked out, his voice breaking as he shocked himself into silence.  
  
“I know. I know you don’t,” Khadgar replied sorrowfully.  
  
They both were still moving ... the boy riding him down until Medivh was pressed flat back to the sheets and Khadgar was burying his face into the side of his neck.   
  
“Wait. Wait, easy,” Medivh whispered, not rejecting, simply trying to redirect. But it was over a moment later; Khadgar whimpering out his first pleasure into Medivh’s neck as the guardian felt the heat of the younger mage’s spill through the thin fabric of their trousers.   
  
_That … had certainly escalated unexpectedly_ , Medivh thought. He was also still painfully hard as he held Khadgar through the last shudders of completion.   
  
Khadgar gasped as his senses returned to him, “Oh … Oh no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” He tried dizzily to sit up, but Medivh latched on to the edge of his tunic and refused to let him pull away.  
  
“If you say that one more time, I am going to turn you into a sheep. You will spend a week as a sheep, Khadgar. This I promise you ...” Medivh paused to gasp raggedly as the boy writhed in embarrassment. “And for the love of the Light, stop wriggling like that unless you plan to follow through.”   
  
The guardian thumped his head back against the mattress, praying to the Titans for some kind of personal restraint. He was only a man. What had just happened? Why was he still crying? What in the hell was the boy doing to him? Had Khadgar skillfully manipulated Azeroth’s guardian so that he didn’t have to answer him? Medivh believed Khadgar had. He … had created a monster, and he might have been a little proud. But only a little.   
  
“Medivh, I should go clean up … I made a mess and I ...”  
  
Medivh waved his hand, and a blue glow arced over them both. A moment later Khadgar blinked up to him in awe.  
  
“Did you just ..?”   
  
“I did. There has to be some arcane benefits for the common man. Don’t listen to anything a blue dragon tells you. All is fair in love and war.”  
  
“Show me how?”  
  
“Go to sleep, Khadgar. Just for a little while. I’m old, and I’m cranky, and now I’m aching. So please just go back to sleep so I can pretend that I didn’t almost finish at the same time as you like an over excited youth.”  
  
“Oh. Uh. Okay.”  
  
“Good lad.”  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
  
**A/N:** Also, you lecture Khadgar, but then you are creepering outside his windows in raven form. You, Mister, are frigging impossible. So you like him. So he's good for you. Die mad about it. Again.   
  
PS:  ... None of my tensing matches, but I kind of like it like that. Please to be enjoying it anyway while I try to get my brain to work again. Winter depression has set in.  
  
**The Usual:** Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  


  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship. May become timeline divergent.

**Chapter Eleven:**  
  
       It was the sort of sound that no man wanted to hear ; especially a master with a suspiciously absent apprentice. Medivh hadn’t seen Khadgar in hours, and as the guardian resolved himself to searching for that familiar arcane signature—that was when the explosion echoed through Karazhan's halls. A ripple of arcane energy climbed the wards in the walls and shimmered through the air before dissipating in a kinetic blue wave, and the guardian cursed colorfully. Explosions were a sign of ineptitude.  
  
But when he heard Khadgar screaming for him it felt like his heart skipped in his chest, and annoyance swiftly gave way to panic. It was something about the tone that was hauntingly familiar—the way it bore a desperation that defied estimation—and while it was true that sound carried oddly in the tower, Medivh was certain of what he was hearing, and exactly where it was coming from.  
  
Sprinting toward the stairs, it belatedly occurred to him that he could blink; and that was what he did. He could feel Cook and Moroes moving—he knew they would be there soon to help him in any way they could—but it wouldn't be soon enough; and he would have to be the one to deal with... this. This. Light, please let it not be what he thought it was.  
  
The portion of the library that was used for practice had been the epicenter of the upwelling, and when he apparated, it stood out like a violet sore thumb in his senses. Landing mid-run at the back of the stacks, his gorge rose at the stench of fel in the air. The corruption within him struggled to surface, but he forced it down as he focused on arcane signatures and Khadgar's sobs for help; if this was what he feared it was, he would have to handle the situation very differently than his father had—or they would be repeating history in a way he hoped never to be a part of.  
  
Luckily, that wasn't the case.  
  
Dashing down the aisle, Medivh slid to a barefoot stop in front of the scene before him, his mouth hanging open as he tried to process the stupidity. A portal stood wide open into another realm, a realm laced in green and darkness. A realm that Medivh had been flirting in and out of for years as he tried to make sense of the drive and corruption inside of himself. It was a place that he never wanted Khadgar to follow him; yet one of his private notebooks lay open on a table nearby, and _that_ yawning doorway was certainly a dark portal. Medivh had no doubts that Khadgar had finally learned to harness the ley lines. The proof was before him indelibly.  
  
A demonic arm had emerged through the portal, seizing Khadgar by the ankle. It was dragging him in as he struggled, and Medivh lunged into action. A fierce arcane burst took the limb off at the elbow, and pouncing across the chalked arcane sigil on the floor—trailing his fingertips through the lines to break the arcane seal—he waved a hand through the rippling mirage before him. Knowing what was coming next, he still barely managed to shield them both before the entire conjuring exploded out of existence as fiercely as it had come into being.  
  
When the world finally went still again, Medivh lowered the glowing shield that surrounded them, ears ringing; and dimly, he was aware that Khadgar's lips were moving wordlessly. The boy had tears of fear in his eyes as he whimpered, and blood tracked down his face from his temple. Rage. Medivh was enraged at the stupidity; but as crimson mingled to pink with tear-tracks, the fury left as quickly as it had come. Striding over to the table, the guardian flipped his notebook shut before setting it on fire with a well placed arcane spell. As it burned, he knelt by Khadgar's side; and cupping that pale face in one willowy hand, his gray eyes searched for contamination—for something he was too terrified to explain.  
  
Next to them, the severed arm on the floor twitched, and Khadgar scrambled away to be sick. As he did, Medivh moved with him, holding back hair as he braced him up on a knee.  
  
"Medivh!" Khadgar wailed as soon as he could breathe again.  
  
"You. Are a complete idiot. I don't have enough words for how stupid this was. What in the name of the Titans were you thinking?!"  
  
"Medivh!" Khadgar sobbed again.  
  
This time, the guardian pulled the boy into his arms and hushed him, feeling him burrow into his tattered robes to hide his face.  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The muffled words poured out of Khadgar like blood from the cut on his temple, and Medivh nestled a cheek on top of sweat-soaked dark hair, eyes half-lidded in relief.  
  
"I know you are, my Trust. I know... you're safe now. Let us simply... avoid doing this again in the future? I think you took years off of my life." Behind him, Medivh heard Cook and Moroes running, and he didn't have to raise his head to know the twin looks of fear and sorrow that he and the boy were receiving. Well, boy no longer. Today Khadgar had come of age—and in a rather spectacular fashion.  
  
"What was that?!" Khadgar finally asked, emerging from Medivh's robes, heart still hammering against his ribs like a sparrow trapped in a jar.  
  
" _That_ , was a demon," Medivh said drolly, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.  
  
"But the sigils were in your notebook. Medivh, what have you been research—"  
  
"—shhhh." Medivh murmured, just as Cook and Moroes came to a stop beside them. Cook had her wand in hand, and Moroes toted his seldom used staff. "Everything is quite fine, just a mistake. No harm done," the guardian continued, raising his voice slightly; his ears were still ringing and he wasn't sure if his words were carrying properly.  
  
"Master Medivh, I cannot believe that for a second," Moroes said, shocked; his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Moroes was never out of breath.  
  
Medivh noted that his attendants' noses were wrinkled at the sulfurous smell of felblood and demon, and he knew there was no hiding the truth from ones trained by the Kirin Tor. "I expect you to suspend your disbelief."  
  
Moroes looked affronted at that statement, but he was too well trained to argue.  
  
"Ah'll bring you potions, I will," Cook said in the silently tumultuous aftermath; she and Medivh having a quiet understanding—one which the guardian greatly appreciated.  
  
"My thanks, Cook."  
  
~*~  
  
       Khadgar sat on the edge of Medivh's desk, one foot kicking endearingly as hazel eyes followed the guardian's every move. Returning to him from the master bath, Medivh cupped the side of the boy's face in a gentle hand—using the other to blot a warm, wet washcloth against the cut at his temple. Khadgar hissed at intervals, but he didn't move away, his eyes half-lidded in relief as the sticky stiffness was washed up.  
  
"Head hurt?" Medivh asked.  
  
"A little," Khadgar replied unsteadily.  
  
"No doubt you've some mana burn on top of it all. That was quite a feat of strength for one so young."  
  
"You really think so?"  
  
Medivh's heart clenched painfully in his chest again, recalling his response to the boy's screams. The fear of a master for apprentice—like that of a father for a son. Or more. Perhaps, something more. There was an ineffable emotion looming just at the edge of the guardian's consciousness, one that he could not put his finger on, but it was there nonetheless.   
  
"Let me make this very clear," Medivh tipped Khadgar's chin toward him until their eyes met, and they were mere inches apart. "If you ever do something like that again, I will let whatever you summon, eat you. Do you understand?"  
  
Khadgar swallowed hard, the guardian could feel it against his wrist.  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Do you understand the enormity of what you did, today? Do you understand how dangerous that was?"  
  
Khadgar looked to him again, an anxious flick of brown eyes before he looked away submissively. "I wanted to prove I could do it."  
  
"Oh, you did it alright," Medivh said dourly.   
  
"Medivh?"  
  
Medivh sighed, biting his tongue against the threatening rant. It was unnecessary, the boy had scared sense into himself, and luckily, Medivh had been there to be certain his first foray into the demonic wasn't his final one. "Yes?"  
  
"It hurts."  
  
"Of that? I also have no doubt." The guardian sighed before setting the cloth aside, and letting go of jaw, he stepped up between Khadgar's knees. The boy gradually thawed, the tension draining out of him as Medivh pulled him to his shoulder—willowy fingers cradling the back of his head. The guardian nuzzled into that dark hair, not caring that Khadgar smelled of sweat and fear; and reaching out to the arcane within himself, he slowly offered the energy out. The act of innervating another mage was possible, but it was an intimate thing. Forced on another, it was akin to rape, so the guardian was overcautious; he had seen the damage that arcane inquisitors could do. Thus, he did no more than brush their auras together until he felt Khadgar gave him a sign of understanding.  
  
And the boy graced him with a sound of curious surprise a moment later, his broad, strong hands spread out against Medivh's shoulder blades. There it was. The inhalation of breath was soft, but the arcane acceptance that followed left Medivh aching in a way he hadn't since Lothar.  
  
"You can do this? _We_ , can do this?" Khadgar whispered, nuzzling into Medivh until the guardian's chest was tight with pleasure.  
  
"Yes, Khadgar. It helps ease mana burn."  
  
"But won't it hurt you?"  
  
"No. No, it won't. If you haven't noticed, I have quite a lot to give. I'm a guardian. Control is more difficult than summoning."  
  
He felt the tingle as Khadgar reach back through the arcane and clasped on to what was being proffered—feeling the warm sweetness to the gesture that was something he had come to expect from the boy's arcane signature.  
  
"We can do this?"  
  
"Yes, Khadgar. We can do this. We are doing this. Your head will feel better for it. Take what you need, that spell is a complicated one, and I know it taxed you."  
  
"Aren't you mad at me?"  
  
"Furious."  
  
"But."  
  
"No 'but'. Rest.  
  
"Will you teach me how to..."  
  
"No. Never."  
  
Khadgar didn't reply to that, but he did rest his head into the curve of Medivh's neck, nuzzling into his dark, wavy hair, more tears falling as he let the guardian hold him safe.  
  
"Happy birthday, Khadgar," Medivh continued, finding himself glad that the boy was here to celebrate it, whole and uncorrupted.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Medivh is determined to fight this to the bitter end, but I think next chapter will be the one where they ... well. You'll see :D I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship. May become timeline divergent.

**Chapter Twelve:**  
  
       Medivh had let Khadgar borrow his washroom. The boy was brushing his teeth and scrubbing the blood out of his hair at the sink, and the guardian was watching him from the doorway. Previously, he had regarded Khadgar as pure and untouchable in a way he couldn't describe. He had thought of him as an apprentice, a child, but today's actions? There had been nothing youthful about them except the level of ignorance. Khadgar was a man now, and a powerful, budding novitiate. It would probably never stop Medivh from calling him 'boy', but there was no ignoring the broadening of shoulders, the loss of puppy fat, and a dozen other things that seemed to have happened in the short span of time since he had arrived—especially when he was shirtless. Khadgar was thriving, and Medivh... was still furious at him, but he was also proud.   
  
The remnants of arcane magic tingled between them from the innervation spell, and with it was a sort of intimacy that Medivh had never been able to dabble in with anyone else. Not even Lothar. He thought back to a matter of days ago when the boy had met him halfway, then finished without being touched. He shivered at the sensory memory. The passion of youth was a beautiful thing, and flattering as well; thus it was far more than Medivh deserved.   
  
Beads of water ran down Khadgar's dark hair, sticking his bangs to his forehead and sparking the candle light into shimmering diamonds along the tops of muscular shoulders. Medivh swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, and he felt his resolve wavering. Khadgar was warm and trusting. Khadgar was clever, gentle, and kind. He was everything Lothar had never been, and could never be; and Medivh wanted to touch him. Light help him but he did. Hating himself, he stalked into the bathroom—still barefoot, cloak hood falling down over his shoulders—and contemplated his next actions.   
  
Was it wrong to need this?   
  
"Khadgar?" he rasped, voice low with desire. The guardian had to take a deep breath to stop his hands from trembling. It had been so long since Lothar, and more than that he knew he was falling helplessly. He couldn't say the word, he couldn't even think about 'love', but it was there. He was scared to death to break everything he touched. He was so afraid of the monster within himself, and still, he reached out.   
  
With the first three fingers of each hand, he brushed the curve of muscle where neck joined shoulder—feeling the slick slip of water, and the heat of bare skin. Khadgar took in an audible breath at that, his hazel eyes darting up to meet Medivh's in the mirror. The cloth the boy had been wringing out suddenly found itself in a stranglehold, and the guardian offered his apprentice a bittersweet smile. It was hopeful, and a little sad, but it was genuine.   
  
"G... Medivh?" Khadgar stuttered.  
  
"Do you want this?" Of all the things Medivh could have asked, that question seemed best. He heard Khadgar swallow audibly, and saw answering desire darken hazel to a rich brown. Maybe he wasn't reading this wrong. Maybe he wasn't the only one who wanted, but hadn't dared...  
  
"This?" the boy murmured vaguely, sounding hungry, hopeful... and wary.  
  
Medivh raised his eyebrows in reply, then stroked the pads of fingers over the curve of biceps, watching goose flesh rise along Khadgar's arms. That response wasn't from the chill air of the tower. "I've felt your eyes on me. I want to be certain this is something you truly desire. I am your master, but you will always have the right to tell me 'no'. Whatever you decided will not change that you are my apprentice. It will not change that you are becoming a powerful mage in your own right. You are a man now, and if you ask it of me... I am willing. Now, yes... or no?"  
  
Nothing less than a resounding 'yes' would do, so Medivh tightened his stomach against what he expected would be a rejection.   
  
Khadgar set down the cloth he was twisting the life out of, and turned in Medivh's arms. Pressing his back against the pedestal sink, the boy stood barefoot and wide eyed; vulnerable but not. There was such open hope in his expression—and always, that indescribable faith. "You want _me_...?"   
  
"I want to be with you, and not just have a hurried rut in my bed, either. I want to savor this. I want to feel you over me," Medivh answered honestly, heat to his tone. He had been fighting, and fighting, and fighting this; but today's mortal fear had reminded him of how little time he had. They had. It had reminded him that he was keeping the boy, and in more ways than one. It was done. The decision made.  
  
"Why me?" Khadgar whispered, blushing all the way down to the tops of his shoulders and stepping hesitantly closer. His eyes were scanning every centimeter of Medivh's face for rejection or upset. "You're the Guardian. You could have anyone."  
  
"I don't know," Medivh breathed; tilting his head as he spoke, and feeling Khadgar copying the motion. The hands that found their way into the guardian's hair were remarkably sure, and even as damp fingertips caught against the wave of dark tresses, Khadgar's lips pressed to his. Medivh softened at that, his own fear of rejection easing as the boy's hips nudged into thigh, and he took in a sharp breath when he felt answering heat and hardness stirring against him.   
  
As Khadgar's tongue slipped into his mouth, he didn't fight it. The intrusion wasn't fierce, but it was thorough and curious; and by the time the boy pulled back, panting, lips wet from the kiss, Medivh had blinked them back into the bedroom—which didn't seem to surprise Khadgar in the least.   
  
The coil of arcane along their skin, bare and clothed, was electric, and Medivh finally understood. He knew why he wanted the boy and he hated it, and it made him angry, and it scared him to death, and he adored every minute of it. "I want you to keep me," he whispered when their gazes met again. "I need you to keep me, even in this. Especially... in this." Khadgar was amazingly steady when Medivh pulled back to look him in the eye. There was a steel there that was both unyielding and simultaneously velvet, and Medivh drowned, his pride giving way.  
  
In silent reply Khadgar's lips sought his again; his warm hand skimming up under clothing... and Medivh let it happen—ungrounded while his control wavered. The touch was a demand and question in one, and he accepted it when the boy pushed him back against the bed. He didn't protest the removal of tunic or cloak, and his hands clasped Khadgar's shoulders while those warm lips explored the scars on collarbones—then the silvering thatch of curls gracing his chest. Time was drifting. Reality was suspended...   
  
"Let me... let me in, Medivh. I'm yours. This is what I want. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. Medivh. Please!"   
  
The elder mage was suddenly aware of the boy's hands tugging at the closure of his trousers, and for a moment he almost jerked away—he nearly stopped him. Things had progressed faster than anticipated, and Medivh needed to take back the reins. Propping himself up on one elbow the guardian regained some of his sense; finding Khadgar crouched between his knees. The boy's trousers were already off, and his own were worked down. Worried brown eyes were seeking out his, and Khadgar's strong, gentle hand cupped his face, anchoring him. Them. He turned into the touch, pressing a kiss to the palm to buy himself time to think—to explain what was happening to him—and he couldn't.  
  
"You're crying?" the boy asked, worry written into the knit of his brow.   
  
One big thumb wiped at the dampness on Medivh's face, and the guardian bowed his head. Was he weeping? He supposed he was.   
  
"Medivh, I'm sorry. We can stop."  
  
"No. I want this," Medivh whispered brokenly; feeling shattered, and unsure, and twenty years younger—frightened, but offering all he had so he didn't lose Anduin. He had needed the warrior's passion and confidence; the surety that Medivh had never owned a day in his life, but wanted to warm his hands by the flame of.  
  
Khadgar froze at the incongruity between tone and words; even as inexperienced and as he was, he knew; Medivh was raw and open, the arcane between them thick with his emotion, and something wasn't right.   
  
"No. Not right now. It can wait," Khadgar announced, only letting go of Medivh long enough to finish tugging off the older mage's trousers. Then, crawling up over him naked, the younger mage wrapped his arms around him and buried his face into the side of his neck—hoping the skin to skin contact would ground them both. "What hurts, Medivh?"   
  
The guardian couldn't answer. He was tangled in the physical pleasure of touch and answering heat, and lost in the depths of his own mind. Anduin had always been too rough. Anduin hadn't loved him, he had simply used him until something better came along—and Medivh had let him. But this... this was a choice. He chose Khadgar. The day he hadn't turned him away, he had made an unconscious decision to trust him with body, soul, and need. Their needs. He knew Khadgar felt the corruption in him, he had since the day at the pool. He had seen the full truth of what Fel was this afternoon—yet he still loved and trusted Medivh. Love. Love was so human, but love wasn't for a guardian. Sex wasn't about love, was it?   
  
Yet protest as his mind did, Medivh was a mortal man; and that was why he was afraid. Khadgar had seen all of him, and still wanted him. _This_. The elder mage hiccuped silently, and felt the boy's arms tighten further.  
  
"We can do this when you're ready," Khadgar's voice was soothing—and Medivh found himself burrowing beneath the blankets and taking the boy with him. Naked and covered. Exposed and girded all at once.  
  
"Please don't hurt me. Please... lie if you must, but don't hurt me," Medivh rasped, still halfway seeing and experiencing a time long past.   
  
"I won't hurt you, Medivh. I'll never hurt you," Khadgar whispered. "And you don't have to tell me who did it, who broke this—just let me... let me earn your trust?"  
  
Medivh shook harder, and Khadgar held him through it without flinching. Kind hands stroked whatever of the guardian they could reach; learning him like an exquisite tome, turning each page to read the subtext between the lines. Plucking insistently at the arcane between them, the boy was worming his way into Medivh's heart. And the mage let him. Oh, Light he was _letting_ him. Change was terrifying, this... was terrifying, and despite his supposed greater age and experience, Medivh was utterly lost. "I'm afraid," he admitted again—for the second time in his life, and to the same person.  
  
"Don't be. Whatever happens, I'm here. I want to be right here."   
  
Medivh felt the press of full lips against the pounding pulse point in his neck, and slowly... he let go. He let Khadgar's weight press him deeper into the mattress and pillows. He counted heartbeats and clung to the familiar scent of the quilts around him. Familiar in a way that Khadgar was fast becoming, and Medivh couldn't deny. He could have lost the boy today.  
  
"Don't go."  
  
"I won't."  


~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
  
A/N: Don't worry, it's happening. You just have to give Medivh some time to wrap his head around this. He's been through a lot, and so has Khadgar.  
As always, I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khadgar has a cold, and Medivh can't concentrate because of it. The Guardian tries his hand at herbalism. Short-chapter fic style. Progressive relationship. May become timeline divergent.

**Chapter Thirteen:**  
  
It was raining when Medivh woke again. Thunder grumbled outside the tower, and he was contented, buried in the familiar warmth of quilts on his bed. Someone was heavy in his arms, nuzzling against his chest. Reflexively he reached down to stroke soft, short hair—and that was when he realized something was different. It was not Llane, or Anduin Lothar in his arms. Hesitantly, the guardian opened one eye, and found Khadgar peering up at him;  burrowed beneath the blankets, the boy’s gaze was as quick and clever as that of a fox in the thicket. How long … had they been asleep?  
  
Dawn wasn’t far, judging by the light in the tower—mind, he had lived here for years but even he couldn’t make promises when it came to accurate time telling. The odd blue and orange glow from the stained glass rose up from the floor to climb the walls; drifting tellingly to where the edge of Medivh’s desk met the flagstone. The wards were singing happily, thrumming as well tuned arcane energy did, and the older mage could feel them heating the room even though the fire in the fireplace had died.   
  
“Medivh?” Khadgar asked softly, a quaver to his voice.   
  
The guardian was caught between wanting to respond to the need in the boy’s tone, and feigning sleep. But then Khadgar was kissing down his chest—nuzzling into his belly, broad hands kneading at naked sides—and the latter option became an impossibility. The boy was completely bare save for the quilt covering them both, and Medivh only had his smalls between them; so there was no faking disinterest.  
  
Yesterday, Medivh had been certain that he would lose Khadgar; that the boy wouldn’t able to control his magic, and history would repeat itself yet again. But today, Khadgar was warm, and aching, and here in his arms; and his soft lips had found the waistband of Medivh's smalls. A curious tongue slipped beneath to find the tip of him, and Medivh’s breath caught in his throat. As afraid as he had been hours before, as angry as he had been, it wasn’t important here and now.   
  
“Wait,” Medivh said softly, hand seeking out dark hair, tugging at it lightly. Khadgar’s eyes all but flew up to meet his, and a blush stained the boy’s cheeks—running down his neck to meet the blotchy flush of arousal at shoulders. “Is this the first time?”   
  
The nod Medivh got in reply was belated.   
  
“I know,” Khadgar rasped dispiritedly. “No good, I know.” Eyes downcast, the boy’s weight lessened as he prepared to back off the bed, and out from under the quilts.  
  
“No,” Medivh corrected firmly, hand tightening in Khadgar’s hair so that he didn't panic and flee. “No need for apology. There is nothing wrong with inexperience. The only thing I ask, is that if you’re certain you want this... you come up here with me.” The guardian had no idea what had possessed him to accept this—encourage it, even—but a moment later Khadgar was kneeling between his thighs, and their lips were clashing. The older mage’s hand slowly relaxed until it slipped out of hair, finding the space between shoulder blades to brace. "Right here. That's it," Medivh whispered against flick of warm, wet tongue, opening his mouth to let Khadgar learn him.   
  
As he rocked their hips together again, the guardian slowly pulled back. Khadgar’s breathing was rough, and the way he was shuddering had Medivh slowing them down.   
  
“Do you want..?” the boy asked, trailing off at the patient expression on Medivh’s face.  
Medivh hushed Khadgar again, shifting them slightly so that the boy was no longer rubbing against him, but between his thighs “Not the first time. I will teach you how to submit if you want me to; but not now.” Reaching beneath the pillow nearest his head, Medivh rummaged until he found the phial of oil he kept there. Rarely, Lothar would visit him, sometimes even Llane; and as he always did, he offered them what comfort he could—necessitating keeping what he required close at hand.   
  
“Okay,” Khadgar whispered, looking to be on the verge of tears. “Are you sure?”   
  
The boy was so gentle, kind, and desperate for Medivh to approve of him, that the elder mage could see how this sort of intimacy could be overwhelming; Khadgar was also the learner who needed to ‘do’ or ‘see’ rather than read, and Medivh would have guided him through the use of oil—but there would be no time due to the exuberance of youth. Decisions, decisions. With a barely audible sigh, the elder mage steeled himself and opened the vial. Fine. They would rid themselves of a certain amount of awkwardness first. “Yes, Khadgar, I am very sure.”   
  
As he slicked his hand, reaching between their bodies, their eyes met; and Medivh was once again struck by how much responsibility he held. In some ways being the guardian of Azeroth was far less terrifying than navigating how he felt about guiding a lone novitiate. Yet here they were.   
  
Khadgar’s brown eyes went wide as Medivh clasped him, flicking down between them to watch his mentor’s hand stroke the oil onto him. At first he was tense, but his countenance softened to a look of abject need as he let himself relax and enjoy Medivh’s touch. Even at his most urgent, Khadgar had the makings of a careful lover, and that was heartening. “That’s it,” Medivh encouraged again. “This is right. You’re doing well.”   
  
When his touch left the boy, moving to himself to slicken tight entrance, he slipped one finger inside—and grunted. He bit his lip for restraint, making sure to spread the oil well. This would be all he would get, and technically all he needed. He knew how to relax, or at least, he did if he wasn’t being watched quite so intently. It was hard to be frustrated, though, when Khadgar’s curiosity was so honest.   
The boys lips parted in rapt attention, observing Medivh’s every motion, and the guardian offered him a private and reassuring smile. “This will be you very soon. You want this, do you not?”   
  
Khadgar’s response wasn’t a word so much as it was a swallowed whimper of need, and Medivh took pity on him. Letting his finger slide out, he wiped his hand on the sheets before carefully shifting the boy over him. The pads of his fingers guided length as he arched his back to line them up, long legs tangling around Khadgar’s hips. This prompted the younger mage to put his hands down to either side of Medivh’s ribs—bracing himself to hold their combined weight. “That’s it,” Medivh encouraged again, tipping the boy’ chin up with his dry hand, using it to bring their lips together. No time to work themselves up, no time to be afraid. That was his goal.   
  
Khadgar’s brown eyes had gone dark the moment he pressed against that tight bud, a look of feral need furrowing his brow—and Medivh took advantage of that split-second where instinct overrode fear. Tightening his legs he pressed with his heels, fingertips massaging that tight ring of muscle until it opened and the tip of Khadgar slid between fingers, sinking in past the crown as Medivh’s body accepted the intrusion.  
  
“Medivh!” Khadgar whinnied, his voice breaking. Their eyes met again, Khadgar’s desperate and uncertain, and Medivh’s steady and sure.   
  
“That’s it, come here. Come in,” Medivh guided, continuing to press with his heels when he was certain Khadgar wouldn’t finish on the spot. As the boy slid deeper, the widest part of him stretching and then easing within, the guardian allowed himself a soft moan. Khadgar hilted with a hiccup of sound, and Medivh let out the breath he had been holding for control. “There,” he whispered, repeating himself for the reassurance and rhythm of the words. “That’s it.”  
  
Khadgar’s arms had given out on him, and he pressed his cheek to Medivh’s chest, gasping wetly. The elder mage tightened his legs again, shifting him that little bit deeper, and heard him whine. Kissing the top of the boy’s head, nuzzling into dark hair, he readjusted his hands until he was holding on to shoulder blades again. “When you are ready,” he murmured.   
  
It didn’t happen immediately. For a time the two mages lay twined, the arcane circling them. Physical unity was not all that different from the metaphysical, and as their energies slowly merged, Medivh had a taste—again—of what it would be like to pass on his power, and Khadgar, apparently, had a dramatically better idea of what it would be like to receive it. Medivh could feel him shaking, and he did the best he could to soothe him, teasing the pads of his fingers along lean back muscles.  
  
“Can I move?” Khadgar asked uncertainly, voice breaking as his hands clenched into the sheets on either side of Medivh’s chest.   
  
“That’s what I’m waiting for,” Medivh reassured, hands kneading at the boy’s back as he slipped out minutely, and then back in with a grunt.   
  
Khadgar… was gifted. Medivh realized belatedly. Not only as a mage, but the shape of him, his length and girth… it was reaching exactly where the elder mage needed it. Were they made for each other? It was starting to feel that way.   
  
As the boy pressed himself up onto his elbows, Medivh caught his gaze again, and saw tears. He didn’t ask about them, he understood. He felt that way himself. They were both so vulnerable with each other like this, so open; the arcane humming between them was creating a cord of energy that shared not just feeling and emotion but power. It wasn’t a spell, it was something very different, something they made without even trying. Something tied to a word the guardian had forbidden himself to say.  
  
“I.. I don’t know if I can… if I will...” Khadgar’s unsteady voice broke the silence, barely audible over the grumble of thunder outside the tower.   
  
“Take what you need, I promise I will be right there with you whatever happens.” Medivh moved back into Khadgar effortlessly, meeting him halfway. Later he would explain to the boy about taking a lover into hand. For now, this would be enough. It was almost too much already.   
  
Khadgar’s first real attempt at thrusting was erratic as he learned the way between their bodies, and the angle and depth that made Medivh cry out for him… but he was managing, and in that the elder mage took some pride. The boy learned swiftly, and soon he was picking up speed and strength, and Medivh met him each time. Sweat trickled down the curve of Khadgar’s back, the wet sounds of their bodies filling the room as the younger mage began to falter. Medivh’s toes were curled, the boy’s belly still soft enough to rub against his length, and when at last Khadgar cried out, spilling hard enough to make the elder mage grunt, Medivh followed him over the edge, dampening the space between their stomachs.   
  
Khadgar’s last few thrusts were deep and hard, hard enough to slap skin on skin, and Medivh used his legs to brace them both—to slow the boy down until he slipped to his chest again with a sob. He was trembling, and so was Medivh. The arcane was enveloping them both like a second skin, and for a few heartbeats the guardian was young again, sampling the joy of first pleasure and the wildness of youth.  
  
Nearly, he almost said the damning words that were so desperate to spill from his lips. Nearly.   
  
Instead he pulled the blankets up over them, closer, and let the boy linger inside of him in silence, stroking that sweat-damp dark hair.   
  
“Medivh?”  
  
“Shh, My Trust. Let me have this quiet with you.”   
  
The rain outside hurled itself at the windowpanes as hearts that raced in time, slowed, and Medivh eventually sank back into the pillows; knowing he had lost the battle, and the war.  
  
Yet he wasn’t entirely displeased with the circumstance.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
  
A/N: As promised. I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  
  



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